


Dust, Darkness and Dark Knights

by Twisted_Fate_MK2



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I, RWBY
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Fun, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-08-04 05:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 130,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16340906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Fate_MK2/pseuds/Twisted_Fate_MK2
Summary: In ages past, an Undead knight sought answers in the land of gods. Then, he sought destiny. And then he sought out mercy, for those who he honored. Then he finally sought an eternal rest, and found it as kindling for the First Flame. Or so he thought, as he instead found himself awoken and entombed in ash and stone eons later. And now he must find something else to seek out.





	1. Chapter 1

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Official Supporters: 

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High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

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Initiate, Shadie

Initiate, Greg Gibson

Infiltrator, Voltegeist

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Fire was many things, to the people and Lords of Lordran and the surrounding Kingdoms of Man alike.

Safety, protection, a sign of the Gods themselves even, and a way to fight back against the dangers the world held. Dragons who escaped the Gods’ war against them, tyrants, bestial threats and men just as good as. Power, pure and primal, that symbolized and allowed things beyond the normal fates of men or Gods alike.

Many worshipped it for some facet of that nature, either in and of itself or as mere conduit for worshiping the gods in totality. The primal power had, after all, first been brought to bear by the Lords after all. So it took them on, as symbol and name both in many cases, and was etched into hearts of men and stone of temples across the land. 

Fire cared not for its tenders or wielders beyond their propensity to become its fuel, or feed it more, and the moment one grew too comfortable with fire one suffered for it. This was the truth of the matter, the Undead knew it as much as he himself was a proof of the statement. The Curse of Undeath was borne of that very thing, as the Fire of the world finally died and sputtered, only prolonged in hopes of finding solution by the sacrifice of the strongest being ever to have walked the planet. 

Gwyn, once the Lord of Sunlight, who even now stood before him, wounded and weak and Lord of nothing but Cinders now. A truly tragic end for a great Lord to meet, and ironic, given the weapon which had hamstrung the once-Lord only moments ago, a Black Knight sword that had no doubt once been forged to protect the Lord before him. 

Even charred by the Chaos flames as it had been, the edge still shone a bright silver that glinted beautifully with the flames around him in the semi-dark of the Kiln. Just inside that keen edge where razored silver met, black, charred metal a spider’s web of elegantly and thinly swirling silver curls. Titanite, gently and expertly shaped onto the metal by the hands of the friendly blacksmith in the tower, that turned the weapon into something truly magnificent to behold and use. Those same gentle, elegant, and yet so exorbitantly powerful swirls coated the rim of his tower-shield and the plates of his Steel armor, the edges of both glowing so faintly as to almost be invisible outside the darkest of scenes where the light could play across the gently glimmering Titanite.

He saw the hateful red eyes of the creature glance behind him, to the center of the Kiln, almost protectively, and readied himself for the attack he knew would. A last instinct of the creature’s, left over from before his hollowing out, like the Hollow soldiers manning their posts eternally and the Knights outside guarding their Lord even now as little more than ash and smoke inside ancient and crumbling metal suits. 

“This was not a fate they deserved. Or you, Lord Gwyn.” He felt the thoughts reverberate through his mind as he turned, raising his shield in front of him and drawing back the blade. “Forgive me, Lord, as I release you all from it.”

Hissing angrily as though in answer, the creature raised its sword and wreathed it in flames, leaping with its only good leg and swinging a clumsy if incredibly powerful slash across his armored chest from his sword-side. The blow did nothing itself, though the flames wreathing it seared the flesh of his stomach and drew a grunt from the Undead warrior, and he brought his shield rim down into the shoulder of the Hollowed Lord and shattered it. The creature roared, and the Undead warrior’s sword arm thrust up, burying the Black Knight’s sword to the hilt in the fallen God’s chest and ending the roar in a wet and sad choke.

It struggled weakly for a moment, before he saw the fire in its eyes flicker and finally sputter out, and he cast his shield aside as the body fell limp. Cradling it, he knelt and laid it on the ash covered ground, gently pulling the blade from the wound and laying it beside him while he set to work straightening the God-King’s legs and folding his hands over his chest, the crown staying on his head in his rest. 

“And so, the mighty Lord of Sunlight finds his rest. And, I hope, his peace as well.” He intoned quietly, voice echoing around the Kiln and out even further, coming back like whispers. 

Whispers of the dead, his mind thought of them, before he shook the thought off and turned, looking at the simply sword in the center of the Kiln of the First Flame itself. He left his weapon and shield with the dead god, no longer needing them, and lumbered to the hilt buried in the bone and ash of the bonfire that had taken shape inside the Kiln. Kneeling before it, he sighed, and raised his hand to light the bonfire. 

And with it, as the flames crawled up his body, sucked the very air from his chest, scorched along his every fiber and the Kiln burst to life around him, he murmured a nearly silent prayer that someone would find a way forward where he and his fellows had tried so hard and failed so greatly.

Into a better future, one that did not send Lords and Men into madness for the failures of their leaders and past.

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He awoke not to pain, as he thought he would when he had finally lost himself to the kiss of fire on flesh, but to a dry throat that gasped and choked on ash and old smoke. His visor was almost entirely covered, he knew, with only tiny pinpricks of dim light making their way into his armored mask from whatever source it came from. A moment later, he heard voices, nearby but muted somehow and he tried to turn his head.

Tried being operative, too anchored in ash and soot that had hardened into thick stone of some kind after however long had passed. He couldn’t see to tell what kind of stone, with his mask sealed up as it was, and he was too tired to break free himself. Drained, like when he’d fought for hours straight before dying, and awoken sprawling next to a bonfire. Time was all he needed to remedy that, he knew, and he took no issue with it. 

Aside, of course, from the muted voices he could just barely discern through metal, and stone, and the walls of the Kiln. Who they were and what they wanted was his first question, having enough experience in life with strangers to know that a man lying weakened and helpless was a man surely to taste steel soon enough.

A muted whoosh sounded, and something fell into the room, hurling dust and ash into the air and bathing him - and the room, he was certain - in sunlight and hot, arid air. Both washed over him, warming him and sending bright light through the small holes in the ash and stone of his helmet, barely a tenth of the helmet’s mask letting anything through. He tried to speak and nothing came, throat dry and rough enough that he could barely even choke. Another familiar outcome, and he schooled himself through it quickly enough to pay attention to his new guest.

“-are beautiful.” A man’s voice, fast and excited, rattled off as he presumably stepped into the room, walking around in it and speaking to someone who didn’t respond as he went and his voice rose and fell in volume. Either he had gotten far away or, more likely, the ash and rock encasing him blocked the sound. “The ash is layered here, compacted so much that one can walk on it easily without falling through, and old enough to have turned flaky and brittle on the edges. The room is round as well, and I believe I see scorch marks along the inside of the room. Likely a blast point of some kind or- Gods, a body.”

Footsteps, then, stopping next to him before he vaguely felt hands on his armored chest, or what he assumed to be hands. It was impossible to tell, but seemed reasonable given the minute pressure there.

“Remarkable, truly remarkable…” The voice whispered, coughing after a moment as though to gather himself, while the Undead once more tried to move his buried arms to test his strength. “Pardon me. The tomb, or whatever this place is, has what appears to be a soldier or knight of some description. Heavy armor of fine appearing make, buried almost entirely in the ash-rock save for the top of his chest and half of his helmet. I’m going to test the rock for ease of breaking it, excavating this body would tell us wonders of the past.”

There was a shuffling noise, and then a sound of metal striking metal, and he felt a shift around his right shoulder. “Wonderful! The stone fractures easily enough, I’m going to continue, but first I need to fetch my camera and record this properly.”

The sound of footsteps rushing away, and he flexed the arm and grimaced, feeling the slightest shift in the stone but no more. He’d have to wait, then, and let whoever this was ‘excavate’ and ‘record him properly’, whenever he returned. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard the clicking footsteps and the sound of something being set up on the stone, muted metal scraping against it and echoing in the unnaturally silent area inside the Kiln’s ancient structure.

“As you can see, the body is buried in ash-stone that has compacted and settled over what seems like thousands or hundreds of thousands of years. Perhaps longer, I will date the rock as soon as the body is excavated, but first it must be excavated and preserved properly.” The man’s voice rattled off rapidly, clearly more than a little excited by him as panic spiked at the sheer shift in time. Or by his discovery, he supposed, straining once more against the stone binding him while the man spoke, “I am going to resume excavation now.”

Once more, the sound of metal striking metal sounded next to him, and he tensed himself in preparation. This man, whoever he was, was digging him out of the stone as carefully as he could manage. Probably in fear of damaging his armor, but the pattern of Titanite on his helmet had to be visible, so the man should know that was not a true risk. Titanite infusion turned armor into ageless works if you used enough of it on high quality items like his, that was common knowledge.

How long had passed while he was in the Kiln? And how long had passed that the man didn’t know what the Kiln even was on the sight of it?

“There we are. Dust, this armor… Magnificently preserved. Were you in here when this all happened?” The man said as the Undead felt the rock break over his shoulder and upper arm, and fracturing when he tried to move the rest of his arm. “Wonderful! I must have struck a fault, the stone fractured down his side over where I presume his arm…” 

The man fell quiet as he moved his arm again and the stone cracked across his chest loudly, before he wrenched his arm free and the man shouted in surprise and fear. The Undead brought his hand to his mask, pulling at the rock and caked ashes there until it mostly shattered away and he could see, and turned to look at his ‘guest’. 

A younger man wearing spectacles and sporting oddly vibrant green hair, in light looking trousers of some variety covered in large pockets and a long, light trench coat over a simple white shirt with buttons running up the middle. His head was partially wrapped in a white linen towel of some sort, under a wide brimmed hat reminiscent of some of the garb he’d seen and heard of from the far eastern kingdoms. In simple looking cloth gloves the man held a small box of some kind, with a glass circle on one end, shaking slightly where he had fallen on his posterior on the stone floor. 

Or, no, he realized the man was the thing shaking even as he looked down at himself, entirely encased in stone up to his a few inches under his neck so that even now he could barely move his head to look down past the armor and stop that sealed him in. “Sensible to take fright, I suppose, at a corpse’s sudden revival. Even among the Undead, such suddenness can elicit fear.”

The stone itself was surprisingly smooth, almost glassy on the surface, with very small fractures and cracks across it from the man’s work and his own sudden movements. Sparing the man a glance in thought, knowing he had little time to decide how to approach this before the man decided his intentions for him - violent or otherwise, and the warrior’s true intent wouldn’t matter once this man decided on his own reaction. So, while he wanted nothing more than to break fully free of the stone, he instead looked to the man and held up his free hand with his palm towards the man in a gesture of peace.

“Gods, it… The corpse is moving, and seems to be even communicating in some manner.” The man spoke, fear giving way quickly to excitement and wonder. “I… Can you speak, corpse? No, I apologize, that is insulting. You are clearly a man of note, likely a knight, correct?”

“...” He rasped almost mutely, growling and holding up a single finger and then moving his hand to the front of his mask and miming taking a drink. Then he held up two digits and offered a thumbs up.

“To confirm, you can speak, but need a drink first. And you are a knight of some description.” The man spoke slowly now, or rather at a normal rate but that seemed a chore for him, and the Undead offered a raised thumb in answer. “Remarkable… Risking freeing you could be dangerous, but… Gods, the questions you could answer for me, the things you could know…”

“No matter, I shall endeavor to free you, sir Knight.” The man stood again, setting the device aside and making a point of not coming between him and it as he retrieved his tools - a small hammer and a chisel made of what looked like iron - and came to his right side, running his hands over the stone, “I just need to find- Ah, there, a small fault in the stone. Perfect. I shall have you freed in a moment, sir Knight, and we shall get you a drink.”

He turned to look at the small thing the man had left behind, and the man spoke, “Ah. I suppose you had no cameras when you were, er, free?” He shook his head and the man nodded, speaking through the quiet sound of metal tapping metal. “I see. Cameras allow for what we see and hear to be recorded and watched at a later date and place. It’s a machine.”

He nodded and after a moment pointed to the man, and he chuckled, “Ah, I suppose introductions are in order. Forgive me, the wonder of this momentous occasion overwhelmed my sense of politeness.” Offering a hand, the man spoke as the Knight gripped it gently and shook, “Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck, not so well known archeologist and historian and relatively more well know teacher at Beacon Academy for Huntsman and Huntresses. A pleasure, sir Knight.”

“Now,” he said after a second, “Please, allow me to focus on freeing you. I have so many questions, things you must know… My heart hammers in anticipation.”

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It took nearn enough to an hour to dig him out fully, his body having been entombed at an angle that meant the stone and ash encasing his lower half was thicker and deeper. But the doctor never stopped his work, gently chipping and then breaking away the stone, laying each piece behind him softly in rows as each layer came free. At the man’s request, he didn’t shatter himself free once he could, and after he was done the knight finally sat up, accepting a hand from the doctor that pulled him from the hole.

“This is why I asked you not to shatter free, my friend.” The man explained, gesturing at the stacked rocks that themselves looked like thin slabs of glassy stone and then to the almost perfect shape of his body in the stone. “Using this, we can date the layers of stone and ash, and find out how long you were trapped there.”

He nodded, and the man smiled before be blinked and gasped, “Ah, please, forgive me. I forgot how thirsty you are, come with me.” Another nod, and the man carefully moved through the ruined structure of the Kiln.

The structure, once grand even when he had come and witnessed its ruined state, had fallen even further to disrepair and destitution. Half the wall had fallen, collapsing upon itself or blown open by the doctor. Either way, a small wall of rubble was all that was left of around half the structure. Around the ruins of the Kiln a second ruin sprawled no more than a hundred feet out, in most places little more than crumbled bricks where walls would have stood, partially covered by sand from the massive desert that stretched out around it. To the right of the exit a single wall stood, separate from the Kiln and discernible thanks to the different materials used in construction. A simple tent made of white cloth fluttered in the hot breeze, and the doctor led him towards it.

Inside, a single chair and collapsible table sat against one side, a cot on the other, and both rested on a rug. A small white container sat nestled under the cot, and from it the green-haired man pulled a small bottle like a dozen others around it and offered it to him, “This is a cooler, which keeps things cold. And this is bottled water, you unscrew the top and can drink from it. I would offer my seat, but your armor would likely shatter it from how much you weigh.”

Nodding, he instead sat on the rug facing the entrance of the tent, feeling sand shift under him oddly, and reached up to work his helmet off enough to drink, barely letting his chin show before a gauntlet covered it to hold the bottle up and let the cool liquid quench his aching throat. 

He coughed as some of it caught, his throat so dry that the water caused discomfort for a moment, before he could finally manage to get out a very quiet and sore, “Thank you.”

“Please, sir Knight, take your time.” He smiled, turning to push through the tent’s flap in front before hesitating, “I’m going to fetch my tripod and camera, so we can speak. I’ll be right back.”

He was back inside a minute, carrying a three legged metal contraption that he placed just to the side of the tent’s entrance with the ‘camera’ on top of it. “There,” he said while the Knight drank the water idly, turning to look at him and then saying, “now our conversation is being recorded, for posterity. Are you all right with that?”

“Yes.” He nodded, voice sounding more like the smooth baritone he normally spoke in now that he’d had some water. “I do not mind being recorded on your… Machine. Camera, I believe you said?”

“Quite right.” The man grabbed the chair and sat in it, just beside the camera and smiling widely, “Now, do you have a name?”

“No.” He shrugged, “I suppose I did, once upon a time. But when an Undead dies, as they oft do, things get… Foggy, and then lost, eventually all of it does. But that, at least, is common knowledge even among the peasantry. Is it not?”

“I… No, it is not.” Oobleck answered carefully, fingers knitting together in front of him as he leaned forward, “May I ask what an Undead is?” Stunned, he leaned back on the ground, and the shock must have been apparent even with his face mostly covered, “I’m afraid that a very, very long time seems to have passed since you, er, died I suppose. The term ‘Undead’ is not used outside fiction now.”

“I see…” He swallowed, sighed, and then nodded. “Very well. An Undead is a being that may be struck down, but will rise again. Should you thrust a blade into my heart now, it would kill me. But in hours I would rise once more, alive and well, so long as the trauma of dying did not drive me to madness.”

“I suppose resurrection does explain your, er, resurrection in that tomb.” Oobleck nodded, smiling wider still and leaning forward, “Now, please, I know you said memory can fail when you rise from the dead, but do you remember what that tomb was? Or the temple built around it?”

“That is the Kiln of the First Flame, Doctor. How would such knowledge be lost...? To time? Surely not...” He shook his head, forcing himself to move on, “As for the temple, I know not. The Kiln was underground. Deep enough that it should not be on the surface as it is now, and this desert… I do not know it, either, I fear.”

“This is the Great Desert of Vacuo, and has been such for nearly two thousand years. Even before that, for another four thousand, the land was a desert. It just lacked the name. This region’s sands were recently shifted massively by a mining catastrophe leagues away and a sandstorm, which is why the temple was even found… And you know neither the desert or the temple.” Oobleck informed him, face turning thoughtful and almost pensive for a few seconds. “This means you must have died before a desert was even here, which would make you at least eight thousand years old or more. Gods…”

“I am sorry, but do you have food?” He asked when the man trailed off for a moment, “I will speak at length, but… Supposing that figure is accurate, I have not filled my belly in eight millennia. That works up a fierce appetite, I fear, so I must press upon your kindness in asking for more. Pray forgive the impoliteness. I should also like to retrieve my sword and shield from the Kiln, it is likely buried there as well.”

“No forgiveness is needed, my friend.” The man stood, stepping in front of the machine, and spoke, “We will continue this later, hopefully. Once we have eaten and refreshed ourselves properly, and when we have found our new friend’s things.”

“Now then,” the man turned, looking at the Undead warrior, “do you prefer beef or chicken, with your potatoes?”

“Y-You have… Beef?”

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Please leave a Review with input.


	2. Chapter 2

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Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile - “That’s meeeeee~!” ~ Mika

High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

Acolyte, DigiDemonLord

Acolyte, Maxentirunos

Initiate, Greg Gibson

Infiltrator, Voltegeist

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

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Come on guys, please join the discord, I really need that washing machine ~ Voltegeist

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The Undead warrior’s helmet had been removed, the dirty thing covered in ash and soot that mostly hid its impressive craftsmanship from view, and was resting on the floor beside the large man while he tore into the rations of beef skewers hungrily. They were nothing special, barely better than normal military rations if he was honest, but the man sitting on the floor of his tent seemed almost rapturous to even have the meat at all and Oobleck had taken the chance to look more closely at him and his armor both.

Gaunt, pale skin that had clearly not seen the sun much, with short and haphazardly cut black hair and piercing blue eyes with their icy irises surrounded by red. Interestingly, he bore no scars, and Oobleck could only guess it to either be the result of his ‘condition’ as an immortal or a benefit of his immaculately crafted, if ancient and admittedly filthy, armor. Pearly white teeth, what should have been impossible for someone from even two centuries past much less millennia, bit into the tender flesh of the skewers that Oobleck had cooked for him as he plucked them from the small, Dust-fuelled camp-stove he’d brought along for the purpose when he’d trekked out to the ruin. 

“Was beef so rare in your age, as it were?” Oobleck asked after a few moments of amusedly watching the man tear into the meat. The ancient warrior glanced to him in question, and Oobleck was quick to explain while he pressed a button on his camera as subtly as he could manage to, “Your reaction before, my friend. You sounded surprised and excited. Very much so, point of fact. And you have been tearing into them like a man who has gone years without.”

“Beef is… Was, I suppose now given my time and place, rare in almost every kingdom of men as the centuries dragged on and the Undead Crisis grew worse.” He answered, taking a bite of the succulent beef and chewing on it as he thought and remembered. “The rich valleys and freshwater sources, and fertile plains where farming was most possible, were population centers. And the Curse of Undeath was a plague, of sorts at least.”

“And plagues spread in population centers.” Oobleck nodded, face growing grim a moment later at the implications of it. “The loss of life must have been unimaginable, if this tale goes to the ends I believe it to.”

“Indeed.” The man nodded, bass voice quiet and sombre at the admission. Piercing eyes bore into the floor as he spoke, a voice hollow and pained as he remembered old battles. “The Curse only afflicts around a third of people, or so I was told by scholars I encountered later in my days, but even a third of the population brings exponential dangers when afflicted by the Curse.”

“Why is that?” Oobleck asked, quiet and polite as he could manage while he pushed the man for answers and the camera rolled on.

“Those afflicted as I am can’t truly die.” The warrior explained, grimacing as he added, “Should you thrust a blade between my ribs I shall indeed fall and die. But inside a few moments or hours, the time varies randomly and with the means of death, I shall inevitably rise again. And this trauma of death and undeath can break a man’s mind, and leave behind a mad husk of a thing. A Hollow, as they were called. Now if you will, imagine a third of the population of every settlement and village becoming Undead and Hollowing.”

“The losses would have been catastrophic…”

“Indeed, and indeed again for they were.” He answered after a heavy and deep breath to steady himself, though the old professor would always be impressed by the man’s steady voice as he spoke. “But not just in lives lost, but finances, economy, and more. Armies had to be mobilized, not a difficult task for a few years of war. But those armies had to stay standing as well. And where they were, at that, to defend locations from Undead. And armies require much, as I am sure you know well enough.”

“Money for pay, food to feed men and horses, ammunition for weaponry, metal for repairs…” Oobleck understood the cost of war in such intricate numbers, in the basic arithmetic of supplies needed to do battle on ancient field. “And to maintain that eternally, the morale would plummet and the citizens would bare so much weight to supply the war at hand.”

“Precisely the problem.” The ancient man nodded to the historian, “And so resources strained, battle was ever present, and over a century’s time the world fell to ruin and devastation. A battle lost here, a rioting population there, and the Gods silent as the grave as well for the most part… At least once the fire had truly begun to fade, and the Curse became something which could be transmitted. A requirement for the spread of the Curse, apparently.”

“The gods?” Oobleck spoke curiously, the man looking to him and nodding. “Please, continue. I am sorry to have interrupted.”

“No apology is needed, though I would not speak of the Gods now.” He glanced at the tent wall, eyes softening and face pinching in pain. “I have felled enough by my own hand in my quest, and would not step upon their memories and dishonor them further, imperfect as they may have been. I would grant them the honor in death of not speaking ill of them after their fates.”

“You slew gods…?” The warrior nodded but, true to his word, the ancient Undead said nothing. And so, Oobleck tried a different angle, “I will not ask after the ones you felled, then. And instead, I would love to hear of any you befriended or knew but did not come to battle against.”

“Priscilla…” He nodded, almost sounding oddly longing as he said the name. “She, by the graces of fate, I met on my journey through Lordran purely on accident. Trapped within a curse, I found her, broken and bloodied myself after the long and gruelling battle through the painted world. And when I found her, I feared for my life, for she was great in size and I felt her power radiating.”

“Instead of striking me down with the great scythe she bore, she laid a hand upon my shield and… Smiled at me.” Now he smiled, bitter and almost pained in a way that the professor almost flinched at as it transformed his face and his cheeks reddened in the fight against emotion. “Imagine it, I ask of you. A frozen landscape, a broken castle full of horrors and me, bloodstained and wounded, and still she sought to render me with tenderness if she could. A-A man, cloaked in armor and covered in blood no less, raised sword and shield against her, and she greeted it with a forlorn smile and an offer of kindness.”

“She sounds like a wonderful person.” He offered, knowing the pain etched onto the man’s face as he looked to him and smiled bitterly. “I take it this story does not end well, however.”

“It does not.” He confirmed, taking a deep breath and then sighing, “I had to leave, you see. Continue my quest for answers as to what had happened to my world, and what I had become. I… Vowed to return, though. And Gods, the smile she gave at such a simple promise…” 

“It broke my heart to see it. And then I found my answers, and it broke again at the knowledge I would never keep that vow.” He sighed shakily, reaching for the bottle of cool and clear and taking a long drink of it before speaking again. “I found the fate of the Gods, and went to meet it as well, burning in the Kiln of the First Flame in an attempt to save the world.”

“For what it is worth, it seems to have succeeded.” Oobleck offered helpfully, hoping to make it an uplifting observation.

“Indeed.” His Undead guest said, head nodding slightly before he spoke again, “I wonder how long her hope held, before she gave up on me. My broken vow must have broken her heart. To be abandoned once more by yet another who claimed to hold her in affection… What manner of knight am I?”

“The world saving kind, I should think.” He offered, the Undead giving him a small smile at the optimistic suggestion. “And, if she was as kind as you paint a picture of, I would think that she would understand your decision.”

“I agree, but… She doesn’t know, and so I fear to have hurt her.” He explained, smiling bitterly. “And that causes in me an ache, my friend, that I do not rightly comprehend. I spent so long fighting, finding only enemies, monsters, and tepid friends at the best of times. And to meet such kindness and then betray that… It paints of me a poor picture, I feel.”

“‘Duty and honor are capricious lovers, for they demand all of us and offer nothing but ends which, themselves, I fear are not to match the patch unto them. And yet I stand, with blade in hand, and smile as I meet them on the bed of grass to be the bed of my death.’” Oobleck recited, smiling politely at the man and nodding his head, “A poem by a famous Huntsman named Herakles of Mistralia, during the age of the Mistralian Empire.”

“I should like to hear more of him, if you could help me in that respect. He speaks with wisdom.” The knight said quietly, looking up at the man after a moment and asking, “Since I have told you some of my story, I should like to make a request. My arms are yet buried in ash and rock, and I should like them returned to me. Perhaps you could tell me of the new world while we do so?”

“Of course, friend, I would be more than happy to help. Just let me gather some tools and send a brief message to my employer, and we shall set to work.” Oobleck nodded, rising and stepping outside after he turned the camera off. 

After a quick file send to Ozpin, of course.

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“The ruins themselves date to so long ago as to not be truly able to be dated by modern means. Which means that this place is more than merely ancient, it goes back beyond anything ever discovered previously on this world!” The historian sounded excited, more so than Ozpin ever remembered him being throughout his time knowing the man. “The ruins around the ‘Kiln’ are themselves already over three hundred thousand years old, prehistoric already! And at the heart is a structure of clearly older make, using different materials, and filled with ash and brittle rock made from it.”

“And your new friend was found within that rock, inside an ancient and sealed structure that predates something three hundred thousand years old...” Older than him, he didn’t rush to mention, though it did bring him some amount of disquiet. Not fear, per se, he knew better than to assume what one’s intentions and beliefs were on something as base as age. “And are you certain, absolutely so, that no one could have been in that ruin ahead of you?”

“There was no sign of any breach of the Kiln’s structure a man could fit through, much less the equipment to properly cement a man of his stature and garb in the solid stone. I made sure to inspect the entire thing before I made my own breach.” Oobleck answered quickly, sounding almost offended oddly enough. “Headmaster, I should think you know me better than to risk my results being fabricated by an outside source.”

Ah, of course, he was joking. 

“I assure you, Doctor, I know you better than to consider it a true possibility.” Ozpin pointed out, smiling politely across the video-feed to show he got the joke. “I merely asked for… Posterity, I suppose one could say. So I could say I had if something had indeed happened outside of your control.”

“I know, Ozpin, and I understand the need for covering one’s professional posterior as well. I spoke in jest, but now I digress.” The man coughed into his hand, to clear his throat or bring them back into focus on business at hand Ozpin couldn’t tell, but he went on a moment later, “Field tests of the ash and rock inside the Kiln have proven inconclusive, the radiometric dating methods I can employ here unable to properly reach that far back. The ruins of the temple, for I hypothesise that is what this was once, date to around the time I gave you. I intend to fact check this with some colleagues of mine once I-”

“Do not share these findings, Oobleck. Not with anyone.” Ozpin interrupted, the doctor frowning at the instructions but listening while he explained. “We cannot risk the world knowing of our new friend’s origins, or this ‘Kiln’ either, any more than we could risk them knowing of the true nature of the Grimm and myself. Imagine the panic, outrage even, were they to find out about immortal warriors and an Undead curse that catches from man to man.”

“I do not think that the Curse is contagious any longer, Headmaster.” Oobleck pointed out quietly, no doubt distraught about keeping things so grave and important to the tales of history from the common people. “He implied that things precipitated the Curse’s coming forth, and business seems as usual across Remnant to my knowledge.”

“I will review the footage of your interview with him, and perhaps you could convince him to tell you more of his tale…” An idea came to him and he smiled, lacing his fingers and asking, “Does he seem a man who would take to writing? Stories, poetry perhaps? I recall you said he quite enjoyed one you shared with him.”

“A short poem by Herakles of Mistralia, The Huntsman’s Destiny.” Oobleck nodded, already understanding where this was going. “You want me to see if he would write about his experiences for you, so that you can see if his awakening precipitates something more?”

“Yes, I do indeed.” Ozpin nodded, smiling thinly at the mild deception that his plan entailed. Oobleck grimaced and didn’t speak so, after a moment of silence, Ozpin sighed, “If you should like to tell him, I see no reason not to. But I would ask that you consider the potential consequences if his return is the first sign of everything he endured. If he refuses our request, then it could cost the lives of many.”

“You’re being manipulative, Ozpin, and you know it.” Oobleck groused, grimacing at the other man’s static-laced words. 

“No, I am simply telling you to decide what you will, and bare the consequences in mind. If that is manipulative, then perhaps it is because the decision I made is the best one.” Ozpin argued simply, the words coming easily after so many decades and centuries of convincing other to his cause and decisions. He let those words hang for a moment, and then added, “I do apologize, though, if I seemed to be manipulating you. I didn’t intend it.”

“It’s alright, Headmaster, I shouldn’t have accused you.” Oobleck sighed, massaging a sweaty and sand-caked brow with his hand for a moment before speaking again, “I’ll suggest it to him, but for now I have to go. We’re going to try and find his weapons, and then I want to examine these ruins some more. I suppose you want to meet him yourself as well, when I leave this place?”

“I would not take him against his will, but if you would extend to him an offer of a place to stay and learn about the new world he has awoken in, the I would appreciate it.” Ozpin smiled politely, rushing to add, “And if he decides against that offer, offer him a ride back to civilization at the least, and I will meet him then.”

“I’ll talk to him, Ozpin.” The archeologist nodded, and after that Ozpin saw him end the call and sighed. 

“And now the Undead rise again… Hopefully, he’s the only echo of the past that’s going to make itself known.” Grimacing, he flicked a finger across his Scroll and forwarded the interview and details to Qrow, and instructions to call him as soon as possible. “Let’s see what a loyal little bird can pick up…”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I suppose writing my stories would be… Helpful, in your studies, then?” He asked, the Undead warrior slowly and methodically working to clean his large blade. His shield lay next to it in the sand, surface now immaculate black steel once more. “I must profess to surprise that you would take interest in such ancient histories as mine.”

“I am a scholar, sir.” Oobleck nodded simply, smiling pleasantly at the Undead as his fingers worked to free his sword’s guard of rock and grime with a thick and heavy rag the man had eagerly offered. “I seek to know history, of my people and others, so that I and my own generations of students might not make old mistakes. And they might, instead, learn from them and honor those who paved the way to today.”

“And you wish to… Teach my lessons.”

“If I can, I would like to.” Oobleck answered simply, sitting outside his tent and watching the Undead work. Methodical and effective, he knew how to clean his sword without even looking at it and get it to perfection. Talent borne of unknowable times doing this very act, Oobleck had no doubt. “And besides that desire, the Headmaster at my Academy wishes to meet with you, and ask after you help against the Creatures of Grimm.”

“The beasts you told me of as we worked?” Oobleck nodded at the question, and the Undead warrior sighed. “I would admit to a desire for an end to fighting, after so long, Doctor. I have wielded blade and shield for longer than a man ought exist.”

“Believe me, my new and very old friend, I understand. And I will not force you to fight our war when, to you if absolutely nothing else, you only just concluded your own.” Oobleck spoke softly, almost like he was speaking to a child of something which frightened them. An inadequate comparison for what the man meant, the Undead was sure, but still. “But this is a dire war, and we need help. We have stagnated at best, and lost at worst, for thousands of years. So long that we no longer remember not fighting simply to exist.”

“I understand the kind of war you face…” He sighed, laying his palm on the flat of his ancient and ever-faithful Black Knight sword. “You fight for the people, for their survival and your own. As I and mine did, so long ago. A war we lost, I add with sorrow, to the forces that arrayed against us.”

“And we are in danger of the same fate.” Oobleck pressed, smiling sadly and looking at the blade before the Undead knight. Then his eyes fell, and his face with it, and he added, “We have lost so much… History, lives, land, so much of it ripped away from us by nightmares and monsters. We are being ground down, and soon I fear we will have nothing left to give that doesn’t see Kingdoms fall, and take hundreds of thousands or even millions of souls with them.”

“Oobleck, I will not-” He stiffened, ears perking and instincts honed from a thousand years of combat and a thousand years more coming and going from battle to battle. 

The shift of the sands, an unreal and eerie stillness to the air that set his hairs on end as he reached for his helmet and slid it on silently. Sand shifted and he saw Oobleck rise, glancing at him where he knelt and gripped his sword and shield before himself rising and pulling his shield around in front of him to rest the bottom edge on the sand under him as it shifted under his massive weight. 

Turning his great head and looking over his shoulder and down on the man, he regarded the man for a moment. A thin coat and shirt, and cargo pants, with not a weapon in sight that he could identify. Just a thermos hanging off his waist, his off hand resting across the width of the thing. Small and weak, a scholar rather than a warrior, and only now had he realized the man had come out here on his own and seemingly unarmed as well as demonstrably unarmored. 

He heard a rush of sand and stone and his head snapped around in front of him as his shield came up. Sand and rock slammed against him as something kicked it up, rubble clanging against his armor and skittering down his shield to thump into the soil and he braced himself against the attack he knew to follow as best he could without seeing where the strike would truly come from. 

Something slammed against his shield hard enough to drive him back a step, but no more than that. His left leg rising as he was forced back and his hips twisting, before the heavy boot slammed down into the soil and anchored himself in place. His weapon raised and cut down, across the front of his shield in hopes of warding off whatever had struck him, and something hissed and clicked in protest as he swept aside something small and hard and the san that had been tossed into the air fell aside. 

Massive scorpions stood in front of him, three of them spaced out among the rubble and spreading out almost curiously, eyeing him. Behind him, Oobleck murmured, “Death Stalkers, their armor is incredibly thick and hard and their claws can crush a man with enough force to tear down his Aura before a minute passes.”

He nodded, bringing his sword down and back behind his shield, ready to thrust into whatever came, and started to pray loud enough for the doctor and the Grimm alike to hear his words, so proud and challenging were they. “A brave knight quests to the Gods’ own land, his blade as sharp as mind and his armor as unbreakable as will itself.”

One of the three, the smallest and closest on his left side, was not content to wait for his prayer even as the fire and lightning crackled across his body at the words, lunging towards him with a hiss of rage. Streaks of fire shot from behind him, ripping into its side and blasting out the other side in a shower of bone-armor and viscera, painting sand from brown to brackish black. Oobleck, he knew without looking, but he couldn’t look to the man as the next came for him and slammed its tail down against his shield and then tried to get its claw at his side. 

His shield caught the golden stinger and deflected it to the side where it buried in the sand, and his blade warded off the claw as he continued, “Through Hollowed soldier and base beast both he cut, shield on arm and blade in hand. Until, sorry sight he found, a wall that blocked his path that blade and steel could not bring low. Beyond would surely lay his fate, beyond locked iron gate.”

Now he felt the stinging pain coming on, of fire and lightning both singing across his body and shrouding his body. The same Grimm from before slammed into him, mouth scraping at the metal of his shield and claw snapping in from his right side, catching on the flat of his blade and pushing him back while oobleck leapt into the fray against the second, fire gone now in place of the man’s now extended thermos - somehow - which he used to cudgel the creature. The other claw lashed into his side, open end slamming into his side hard enough to shove him to the side a few inches in the sand and drawing a snarl from him as the claws squeezed. 

But still he chanted. 

“A fate did await, surrounded by monstrous foe, and a fate that he did not ask to wait. A shout to loved comrade, ‘Now you go!’.” He grunted as the claws squeezed and lightning and fire crackled in the air, the creature hissing as the elements burnes at it and releasing him, falling back and raising its stinger high as his voice rose to a below, “But stay he did, and honor he robbed of the Brave Knight of Catarina! A knight, robbed of name and fate, and honor all. And so at last, did his will slip, the Brave Knight of Catarina!”

“Until, at hand of his own begotten, finally fall he did! With shield on armor and blade in hand!” His sword and shield rose, and his eyes looked to the glowing orb on high as he bellowed into the sky itself as fire and lightning crackled down his length and across the sands around him like a wave of fire and electricity loosed onto the world itself, “Siegmeyer of Catarina, he was! And in his name, I praise the Sun! And for him alone, may it shine ever more!”

Now he was encased by the swarming energy, and felt it scorching him and sapping him of life both as his eyes met the red Grimm’s and he roared at it. The creature hesitated, taking a single chittering step back, before its tail shot in again. This time, when it struck his shield and he angled the metal surface to force it by, he stepped in and raised his blade high and brought it down with all the might of a god. 

Lightning and fire slammed into the ground, hurling sand away in front of him, and he heard the creature shriek in pain as he turned and leapt into the air and atop it. The Grimm buckled almost until its stomach hit sand and then bucked as hard as it could manage, trying to throw him off. But it failed and he rose, raising the blade in his hand with the point aiming down, and then bringing it down in the center of its body and impaling it. Once more the creature shrieked as fire and lightning scorched it from within, and then he yanked to the side towards where Oobleck was delaying the second Death Stalker.

The blade tore through the carapace and the innards both, and the Grimm spasmed as he leapt off it before it finally fell dead and moved no more. Souls, the life force of the Grimm, rushed into him and he embraced them as he cast his shield into the sand and charged the rear of the second Grimm as it skittered away from the Doctor and pulled its tail back to look for an angle to strike from. 

Instead, when it tried to thrust the golden point in, it tugged against the Undead’s grip and chittered first in confusion and then in fear as it was hauled back and to the side. Its legs and claws flailed, kicking up sand and stone, as the Undead pivoted in the sand and pulled the tail over his shoulder. Using the appendage as leverage, he hauled it over and threw it to the side as hard as he could and then followed after it as it slammed down against the ruins surrounding the Kiln with its soft underbelly exposed to the glorious light of the sun high above them both. 

For only a moment, its vision was blocked by shadow from the Undead warrior, before he landed on its stomach and swept his sword across the thickest part of its torso. Armor was cleaved apart like butter and once more the Grimm spasmed before it went still, and he yanked his blade free and roared into the air towards the sun itself with the rush of souls and power from his spell both coursing through him in a mad rush of adrenaline. 

Finally, he let the power fade and felt the soreness that came after it, an ache in muscle and bone deep enough that when he stepped off the Grimm he sank to a knee and sighed as he fished out his Estus to take a draught from. Sighing as his body was restored, he returned the flask to a safe place hidden in his belt and turned to look down at Oobleck. 

“You… Threw a Death Stalker through the air, as though it were nothing.” Oobleck said quietly, covered in sand and panting slightly from the sudden fight, sounding shocked as he rose, “Like it was…. Like it was nothing to you.”

“It was nothing to me.” He said simply, trudging past to retrieve his shield and automatically inspecting its immaculate surface for damage. “Such beasts I fought as this on a day to day routine. Yet, I know that they could kill a common man. Is that not so?”

“Death Stalkers have been known to end entire settlements sometimes.” Oobleck answered grimly, collapsing his Thermos - and the Undead made a note to ask about that as well - and shaking his head. “Were that we could all hurl them about and cleave them into pieces so easily…”

“My decision is made then, it would seem.” The undead sighed, resting the tip of his blade in the sand and looking down on the slightly shorter man. “My blade shall turn on these creatures, as you have asked of me. I shall fight your war for you, Doctor. For my honor demands it, and the great souls within me and in my past demand it.”

Looking to the sun itself and nodding, he swore, “From Beacon, I shall do battle against these creatures of Grimm at your request. For the Sun, so grossly incandescent and worthy of praise as it is.”

“You worship the sun?” Oobleck asked quietly, watching the man look back to him for a moment before setting aside his arms in the sand and straightening. 

“Worship it?” He asked, shaking his head and laughing as he once more looked skyward and raised his arms above his head, as though to encompass all of the sky itself. “Nay, Doctor, I praise the sun for its glory! Long may the Sun shine on high, haha!”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Cheesus Christ :

Indeed he was, but Chosen here only has his own biased perspective of Gwyn. He knows some of what he did, but even if he knew all, he is still bound by codes of honor. He wouldn’t even insult Lautrec, much less the God Gwyn.

Alvelvnor :

About the Sun and praising it-

Ayman El Kadouri :

I hope I don’t disappoint.

The Baz :

Here you go~!

The Wizardrous Magicman :

I hope I blended things well enough here for you, mine friend.

It’z Syndrome :

Nah. Also, hi, motherfucka. (Special thanks here for helping with the first Prayer for Power Within here.)


	3. Chapter 3

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“It’s perfectly safe, my particularly old friend, I assure you of that completely.” The doctor said, standing beside him on top of a sand dune and looking down on the small, black and silver, almost bug-like metal thing at the bottom of the dune and dusted by the golden sand around them. 

“It’s called a ‘Bullhead’, and is a transport craft commonly used by people all across this world, among other craft like it.” The man explained quickly, adding after a second, “Why, I brought it here, so that in itself is evidence of its usefulness. And its safety, of course, or so many people would not continue to use it the way they do for fear of an incident.” 

“I fear nothing so base as a mechanical contraption.” He assured the man gently, and meant it too, though Sen’s Fortress echoed in his mind beside the sounds of clanging traps and hissing snake-men. He’d fought and slain far more fearsome things than this metal contraption, whatever the case. 

Planting the blade of his sword in the sand and leaning on it, he said simply, “If you vouch of its safety, then I will defer to your judgement.”

“And I thank you for such trust in me.” Oobleck answered, hefting five large bags tied together by a thick and corded rope onto a shoulder to carry them on his back and lifting two even larger ones in each hand over his shoulder, laden almost ludicrous so by supplies and relics he wished to carry home and seemingly unbothered by it. “Please, please, come with me, my friend. I need only load these last bags and we can depart for Vale.”

“Hm.” He grunted, leaning his shield against his sword and plucking a bag from the man’s shoulder, jerking his head toward the thing at the bottom of the dune-hill, “Then let us depart, if you will. I find myself tiring of this sand and…” he glanced back at the ruined Kiln, voice dropping, “And I find my business here concluded, and wish to be away from this place. Sooner than later, were I asked my preference.”

“Of course, of course.” The doctor responded, heading down the golden hill with the Undead warrior behind him, taking a moment to tuck his sword between his arm and chest and heft his shield to carry it down behind him while the man spoke, “I must ask, though… It has been so long since you have been to any true civilization, I understand, but-”

“You seek to know that I will not have a bad reaction to it. To know that I will not panic when surrounded and swamped by people and a new culture not my own.” He finished for him, nodding understandingly as the man pulled open the door to the ‘Bullhead’ and stepped inside. 

“I apologize for any offence taken, I promise, but!” He stood, holding out his hands and taking the bag from the knight, “Thank you for your help, Sir, thank you. As I was saying, I mean no insults, but I don’t wish to… To make you uncomfortable, to say the absolute least on the matter.”

“I take none in the fashion, I assure you, Doctor. You need not fear offending me, I am far more resilient than you might imagine.” He responded with a low, rumbling chuckle deep in his massive chest. In truth, the caution was quite a good approach with his kind, their minds were wont to shatter under undue strain. 

And that the doctor couldn’t know that, he didn’t factor in. Even simple enough caution without motivation was a prudent gesture, to his mind.

“From your story and demeanor, I know of rocks less resilient than you, my ancient and nameless friend.” The man spoke in jest, and he could tell from the smile on his face and the tone he spoke in. Then the man seemed to realize something as he stood, looking up at his armored visor and jabbing him in the breastplate a couple times, “You know, you should think on a name. I can’t just call you ‘friend’ forever. A name is what immortalizes us in history!”

“I should think that our deeds ought do that rather than our names, but perhaps you are right… Very well, a name shall be taken.” He sighed, leaning his sword against the back of the mechanical contraption and taking a seat, leaning against the shield across the curve of the vessel’s rear and leaning back against it. “I… I was a religious man, when I was but a man.”

“Then perhaps a name suited to it?” Oobleck suggested, tapping a finger on his chin and pacing back and forth inside the metal thing for a few long moments while he thought. “Reverend? No, that doesn’t sound right… Pastor? Same problem, too formal. Father? No, no… Deacon?”

“That, I should think, I rather like.” The Undead warrior nodded, smiling beneath his mask and crossing his arms over his armored chest comfortably. “Deacon… Deacon… Yes, I rather like that indeed. Deacon Knight, perhaps, assuming your people use surnames as mine so often did.”

“It works, yes, though rather on the nose if you ask me.” The doctor shrugged simply, smiling good naturedly and leaning down to offer him a hand. “I’m a certainly glad to meet you, my new friend, Deacon Knight.”

He shook it firmly as he dared and the man continued as he leaned back up and turned, glancing at each of the bags in turn as though checking off a list in his head while he spoke, “Once we reach Beacon Academy, I will ask the Headmaster about papers for you. We wouldn’t want our guest to be unable to even fly to the city because of simple papers, would we?”

“I… Did you say fly?” He asked nervously, shifting awkwardly on the hull of the craft as the doctor moved to the front and pulled the hatch shut beside him.

“Hm?” The man froze, reaching for the handle on another door set into the forward wall. After a second he nodded and smiled warmly, pulling the lever to open the door and answering, “Oh yes, Bullheads are the way to get from Vale proper to Beacon, unless one wants to trek for hours through Grimm filled woodland instead. Do you dislike flying, my friend?”

“I…” He swallowed, forcing himself to relax as best he could and gritting his teeth besides. “No, I am not afraid of flying, Oobleck. Please, by all means, take us to where you wish. I shall be fine, for I fear not thing such as this.”

Bravado, to be sure, but the other man didn’t press him on the issue. At the very least it wasn’t a giant bird of rather dubious origin…

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“My friend, Deacon, wake up. We are circling on final approach to Beacon, passing through Valean airspace as we do.” The sudden and loud voice was warped and scattered somehow, distorted coming from around him, and he jolted at it before it added, “These are called ‘speakers’, Deacon, and I am using them and cameras in the hold where you reside to communicate. Stupid mistake, I should have warned you and I apologize, but too late to worry about that now, I’m afraid.” 

“We are circling along the edge of Vale and I… Thought you would enjoy seeing it. You did, after all, give your life to create it, imperfect as it may be.” And wasn’t that a sobering thought, one that made the ancient warrior snort in a mix of amusement, anger and a sort of nostalgic sorrow he couldn’t place. “You have a couple minutes to see it out the starboard- Er, the right side, I should say. I thought I should say something.”

Rising, he moved to the front of the cabin and rapped his metal-covered knuckles against the door heavily to show he’d heard the man. Then he leaned against the metal wall beside it, arms crossed and gazing out the small window in the center of the door. The sun flashed in his eyes, bright and shining and warm as a mother’s embrace, just as he had so longed for in his long, nigh eternal journey. Or a nigh eternal war, he even now couldn’t decide which of the terms truly fit the life he had led for so many centuries he knew not the number of.

But all of that was worth it for the sight that greeted him, the vision of beauty so immaculate as though to wish to make him believe anew in gods he knew fallen, and so wondrous as to rob even his titanic body of breath. 

A city of towering structures with walls that looked made of glass and stone unlike any he had seen, with banners and flags flying high on metal poles, gleamed back at him like sunlight made manifest. Craft like the one he rode in buzzed around, along with a score of other kinds he could just make out flitting like bugs round the city, some flitting up and down from the great wall that towered over the city. Dotted by dozens of structures even he could pick out from here, fortifications of varying kinds, and defensive measures that looked like catapults, sort of, but tubed.

New technology, he was certain without needing to ask. Weapons of some kind he couldn’t divine, but they were there for a reason. To protect the people, the lives, he sensed below and around him.

And gods did he sense life around him, part and parcel of his Curse he had learned rather quick, he could sense life around him if there was enough of it. Feel it when he reached out with a hand and paid attention, like vapor clinging to his armor weakly. Like a dying man’s fingers clutching at him with their last gasps of life, he had always thought morbidly, but to sense so much around him was… Intoxicating, but not in the senses of alcohol or anything untoward in that vein.

Rather it was a shared joy, feeling the energy of sheer life around him simply existing. An intoxication begotten by beauty or art. Enough so that when the Bullhead he was on angled back up and level and cruised away, he almost cried out for Oobleck to grant him that vision again. Just one more minute of it, of the beauty of a world not damned unto the possession of the dead, the Undead and whatever pitiable and tragic monsters wandered the world for them to face.

Instead, he simply smiled, and returned to his seat to wait until they would land. But never before had he felt such pure, unfiltered joy as he did now. For he knew that his sacrifices, all of them, had been worth something in the end. The blood shed, lives lost in both the normal sense and the Undead kind, and all the fighting he’d been through…

And it had worked, created a world of living beings, happy and bright. He could sense it, feel the vibrancy written into the air itself, abounding as thick and common as the very air he breathed itself. And he simply enjoyed it while the trip continued, for however long it would continue for.

The taste of success, true and pure for the first time in his life, sat on his mind and on his tongue. And he relished in it, so earned as it was, and for once did not chastise himself for the vice of true pride.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Beacon, when they had finally arrived some half an hour later, felt like a smaller and isolated microcosm of the vibrancy and life he had felt in Vale proper. In many ways, it echoed faintly of time spent in knightly cloisters during the wars against the Undead, training, studying and learning how better to fight the fallen warriors that were their foe. But he could sense a different kind of life here, a vibrancy that could not be matched by a score of solemn Undead eternally preparing for battle.

Life, and he felt no shame in soaking it in while he waited on the doctor to finish what he had to do.

They’d landed in the small landing area a few minutes ago, and he stood patiently with his shield and sword resting against the steel of the craft behind him. The pad was a large one, or so he thought, about thirty feet out from the center in every direction and made to singular purpose. A small wall encompassed it, only a man’s height tall and a foot thick at best, with crates of various appearances with symbols he didn’t understand inscribed on their sides. Uniformed staff came and went, speaking to the doctor while he saw relics, pieces of stone, and the like sorted carefully into black crates, each pieces wrapped in thick and padded cloth for its protection and set into small, pink things that looked like nuts.

The workers, to his surprise, gave him no real attention beyond asking him to move once or twice. They seemed unsurprised or perturbed by the large, dark armored warrior standing silent vigil over their efforts. Testament to professionalism he thought at first, before the obvious registered more fully in his mind. Undead knights were not a thing in this world and so, to them, he was likely nothing more than a new guest at the Academy.

The obvious, that had escaped him for several minutes, and for which he blamed old and ingrained habits.

“How are you doing, Deacon?” The doctor asked some ten minutes later, placing his smaller person between the knight and the workman loading the crates onto a large, wheeled cart. The man added after half a second, “I apologize for forcing you to wait, but I had to see the artifacts I collected stored properly for later study.”

“No apology is needed, good doctor.” The warrior answered, his good mood infecting his tone as he spoke and turning what would normally be deep bass notes into something brighter and warmer as he spoke. “I am more than content to simply… Bask, I suppose is the word, in the warmth of the sun above and the feeling of such vibrant life I have not managed to see for far longer than even I know.”

“You’re enjoying yourself, then?” He nodded and the doctor smiled widely, waving a hand behind him towards the Academy invitingly before turning to lead him into the grounds properly. As they walked up the long boulevard, flanked by trees so dense as to nearly be a forest but for the paths he saw with benches to either side, and a single wide open court to his left with what had to be students milling about idly. “Good, good! I’m glad, more than you know probably, that you could see these sights. You are, after all, responsible for them. Are you not?”

“In part at the least, yes. Though I would mention that my comrades got me as far as my own strength did.” Even if that was more on the part of maintaining his sanity and combating foes came as more of a secondary aid for him. The statement still bore that truth, and it was the one which he concerned himself with. “Still, it’s… Beautiful here. Beyond almost anything I ever had the good fate to have borne witness to.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Oobleck answered soberly, head lowered as they closed on the academy itself. “To think of all you have been through, only to rise again and fight a new war… I almost regret asking it of you.”

“Do not. Such is duty, and had you not asked it of me, in time I would have raised blade against these creatures regardless.” Deacon answered simply, resting his sword across his shoulders comfortably and looking up at a statue set in stone as they came to stand before it, a man with a blade raised skyward with a woman wielding an axe behind him, standing victoriously over a snarling creature that had to be a Grimm. “Duty dictates action, my friend. Such simplicity is my code of existence. Tell me, what is this statue to commemorate?”

“Ah, that is to stand in remembrance of man’s triumph over the Grimm, among other things like the Warrior King who fought to found the Kingdoms and a few other matters that I shall see materials provided for you to read on.” The doctor assured him, “Once our meeting with the Headmaster is concluded, of course.”

“Of course.” He chuckled quietly, taking the hint and following the man towards a tower that sat in the center of what had to be the campus proper. 

Two large buildings, several stories tall and a hundred yards at the least in length and the sun knew how wide, curved around the wide and paved area with the statue at its center. Four walkways, counting the boulevard they’d come along, stretched to doors that led into the two buildings on either side of the boulevard and the tower itself on the opposite side. Small fountains curved around the round, paved area’s edge, bubbling water with gardens and trees dotting the area beyond and benches on the inside of the area made of carved stone.

Benches and garden areas occupied by students who, unlike the staff, did stare at him as he lumbered by heavily. Conversations died down as they watched him walk, and he grew concerned enough to ask the professor about it.

“You are new, Deacon. A new thing on the block, so to speak. Something unique to break up the monotony that they experience in the day to day of their lives.” He answered simply, holding a door open for him as they entered a wide open hallway at the base of the tower. Instead, the dull scrape of his heavy metal boots against stone gave way to heavy padding on carpet and their voices took on a faint echo in the sparsely populated interior, and the doctor continued, “Do not worry about them, their attentions will divert as soon as we have passed. The short attention span of youth is ever predictable like that, you understand.”

The rest of their trip was short, silent, and concluded in a couple of minutes riding up an elevator. That, at least, he knew from his journey, if nothing else in this blasted era. 

“What,” he asked quietly, raising his shield to the ceiling and tapping a small, glowing orb there gently, “is that?”

“Electricity and a light bulb…” Oobleck sighed as the elevator dinged gently but brightly and the knight flinched slightly at the sudden sound. “I will see to technical manuals and invention magazines being made available to you as well. For now, don’t worry about it terribly much. While I do that, please, enjoy your talk with the Headmaster.”

“You will not take part?” He had assumed so, if only to make polite introductions and answer questions that the knight himself could not about the area around the Kiln and the like.

“Our mutual friend has business to attend to elsewhere, I’m afraid.” The white haired man approaching them said, cane clicking gently on the stone floor. Overhead, gears turned almost eerily, and the man spoke calmly as he came to a stop in front of the open elevator, “I am Headmaster Ozpin, of Beacon Academy, and I have quite a remarkable story to share with you.”

“You do?” He asked, stepping into the room curiously and cautiously. “What manner of story?”

“Please, you may leave your weapons at the door, and we will speak at length. I assure you that someone of your stature has nothing to fear from me or my staff.” Ozpin said simply, turning without another word and striding towards his large desk across the room. 

Hesitating a moment before doing so, ancient instincts warning against it in ways almost as ingrained and internalized as breathing, he laid his shield and sword against the wall by the elevator. Everything in him screamed against relinquishing his weaponry, but once again he counseled himself against bringing ancient paranoia of a dead age and dead time into this new world. To do so would be to invite that world into this, and such was not a sin that the ancient Undead would consider.

Moving to the other side of the desk, he gently lowered his armored form into a large, metal chair with a wide frame and seat to accommodate his armor, and the silver-haired man spoke, “First, I must ask that you understand that everything I am about to tell you is fact. I know for one with such claimed histories as you, my own information will not ring quite as spectacularly, but much like your own origins, I fear the consequences that this kind of information could have.”

“Secrets such as these are not ours to keep, I think.” He argued gently, sensing already that they would be at odds in many ways. “Keeping secrets dear to the world nearly destroyed all that existed in my time, Headmaster.”

“Please, Deacon, was it?” He nodded quietly and the smaller man continued, interlacing his fingers and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. “Please, then, Deacon, understand that your world and mine are not the same. Or rather I should say your time and mine aren’t the same. The rules of yours and the consequences of decisions and issues at hand are not the same as mine.”

“How do you mean, exactly?”

“Well,” he began, tilting his head meaningfully outside and towards the Kingdom-city they’d passed, “Vale is one of many Kingdoms, you understand, which have managed to eke out an existence in this world in spite of the Grimm. But do you know why it is so difficult to combat the Grimm themselves? The cause of the need of such Kingdoms.”

“No, I do not.”

“The Grimm can sense, and are attracted to, certain emotions.” Ozpin explained for him patiently, and somewhat condescendingly as well. Sounding like a man explaining something simple and basic to a child. “Anger, pain, grief, sorrow… And, of course, fear. As such, whatever information which could cause a panic to ensue places entire Kingdoms at risk. Tell me, just knowing of something like yourself, what do you think it would do to the established theories, religions and normality of this world?”

“They would all be called into doubt, and in cases that are not few and far between to be sure, broken outright.” He answered simply, grimacing behind his mask as the point set in. “Which would cause panic, and attract the Grimm.”

“Precisely, and that is why I must ask that you keep both your own secret and mine inside these walls.” Ozpin explained, smiling pleasantly at his quick conclusion. “I will introduce you to others of my little circle of guardians, in time, if you wish to aid us. But don’t rush too terribly, you have much to catch up on since your rest. Until then, would you grant my request?”

“I will keep your secret regardless of decision when I make it.” He assured the man, who nodded understanding as he spoke. “However, I will withhold the other until I am more acquainted with this world in and of itself. And once I have had time to adjust to everything, of course. Adaptable as I may be, such radical shifts as these will take much more time and rest than I have had thus far.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Ozpin commented quietly, if stiffly as well. Clearly, whatever he said on the matter, the answer he’d given the Headmaster was not the one he wanted. But he seemed unwilling to press the matter and simply went on, “Very well, then. First, I need to tell you a few old fairy tales of my people. Starting with the one most prescient to my need of you.”

“I sense they are likely not simple children’s tales.” Ozpin nodded at the statement, and Deacon grimaced and sighed almost tiredly. “Very well, then. Speak, and I will offer fair ears and an open mind to your words.”

“There once was an old wizard who lived in the forest, all alone, until four young maidens came to his home…” Somehow, the Undead knight sensed that this was going to be an odd conversation.

Such was his life, though, he had realized long ago. From one piece of insanity to the next, and never a true break from it.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The Baz :

Indeed, me and my beta thought that using it could be an intriguing addition to the story itself. Glad you agree. On the topic of Salem, I shall say nothing for fear of potential spoilers~

Simple 405 :

Glad you enjoyed it.

Alvelvnor :

Thassa lot of spoilers there, friend. However, Praise the Sun.

The 3rd Overlord :

High praise indeed, I hope to keep up such splendid work.

Xager the Chaos King :

Spoilers~ XD

Talon Ibn La Ahad :

I worked very hard on it, and am glad that showed through. I can’t promise perfection, of course. I feel this chapter is lacking in luster itself, a bit, but needs must and there’s nothing dramatic to happen save rehashing of stories people have read told a thousand times already. 

But I shall try nonetheless.

Eyman El Kadouri :

Glad you enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

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“She suffers, Ozpin.” He said almost tenderly, standing in the Vault of Beacon and laying a hand on the glass container which held the fallen Maiden, Amber, in a state of nigh-catatonic anguish but not allowed to die. Barely turning to address the smaller man behind him, he whispered, “She deserves the peace of death, Ozpin.”

“She does, but if she dies, then the power of the Fall Maiden will be transferred to whomever attacked her in the first place. And that is not an outcome I can permit.” Ozpin said simply, at least managing to sound pained at the idea. 

Or resigned to it perhaps, the two tones and sentiments were both ever similar across his eons of travel.

“I find this distasteful and dishonorable in turn, Ozpin. And I do not think I can discern of which I feel more.” He growled lowly, gritting his teeth and letting his armored limb fall to his side as he turned to the man and asked, “Are you quite sure that such cruelty is warranted?” 

“I’m afraid so, Deacon. I’m afraid so.” He joined the massive Undead, gazing up at Amber’s pained, catatonic face and grimacing when she winced suddenly and spasmed shortly like a shock had run through her. “Were it an option, and were it not the case that taking what options I do have could cost far more lives, I would not tolerate Amber suffering like this for even a moment. And I would certainly not prolong her pain filled existence.”

“I know little of this conflict beyond what you have told me, Ozpin.” He spared the woman a glance in her glass-covered, electrical tomb, his fist curling tight enough the mail caught and protested before he sighed. Looking back to the small headmaster, he went on, “I will not question your choices, Headmaster.” 

“Oh?” He waved a hand at Amber, curious now instead of pained at her suffering, “Are you truly so willing to leave a decision you balk at and dislike so much to a man you have only just met?”

“I know naught but base fact of this ages old war of man against monster. Without time bringing steel against these creatures, and seeing the way this world has been shaped by the same act and fact, I can not begin to have a right to question your choices.” He inclined his head politely, “I defer to you, as the more experienced man on the matter at hand. Though my heart and honor-bound souls cry out at its cruelty.”

“You souls?” The man blinked at the phrase, head tilting to the side so slightly he almost didn’t note it and smile straining to stay where it was. Ancient, wary eyes caught his hands tighten on the head of his cane, and his fist curled in anxious response. “What do you mean by that, Deacon? The phrasing is odd to me, you understand, and I wish to understand you more before we reach a permanent arrangement regarding Beacon.”

“Understandable enough, Headmaster.” He forced his fist to uncurl, and prayed the man had either failed to notice or failed to care about it, and nodded. The curiosity was truly and completely understandable, and thus far the man had been honest with him in so far as he could see, and so he could not begrudge him the answers he sought.

“Undead such as myself have many advantages and disadvantages in our Cursed stated, you see. One such is that when we fell a creature, no matter its strength or weakness, its life force joins our own in the form of ‘souls’ of various kinds and strengths.” He began, stepping towards the man and raising a hand to summon a small, dark flicker of a soul, barely an ember itself of life. Intrigued, Ozpin stepped forward, leaning down over the gauntlet like a child might to see it better. “This is but the weakest form of a soul, not even the soul of a cat or hound would spark so weakly in my hand.”

“Amazing… And you can take this from any creature?” Bright eyes looked to his visor hopefully, the kind of smile borne from small hope cracking the peaceful facade the man had before. 

Almost like a child, the Undead found with some amusement, though compared to him all were, in truth, as children in comparison. 

“I have no choice in the taking, I fear.” He nodded, bringing the wisp of a soul back within himself and lowering his hand. “The act of the killing brings their essence, everything they are, into me. There it is piecemealed and spread across my body and being both. Whatever power it held in life, if any of note, personifies as a Soul of incandescence and power. That I can then absorb directly for raw power or, if I like, fashion into material form as a weapon or a magic of some kind. Though I admit I find the wielding of Souls of power made metal and mystic art alike somewhat… Macabre.”

“I should think the reasons for that are obvious enough, but…” Shaking his head, he sighed and asked in a low and resigned voice, “I do wonder what would happen if you were to take on a Maiden’s soul.”

“Then I would imprison it within myself, and presumably it would be treated as any other soul.” The armored Undead titan shrugged simply, glancing to the woman once again for a brief moment before grimacing. “I have taken into my being the souls of gods, men, mechanical monsters and demons all. Not one has been an exception, and so I doubt that a Maiden’s soul would be any different.”

“I see.” Ozpin hummed in thought, glancing to him again and then back to the woman with a sad and grim expression. Smiling weakly, he went on, “If only her soul weren’t broken, I might ask you to end her suffering. But I don’t think the risk of her Maidenhood fleeing in search of its other half is worth it. And were her soul not broken, we wouldn’t be having the conversation at all, I suppose.”

“The risk is unknown, that is true. I know not how the magic of the origins in these Maidens’ powers affects their souls, and so I can not promise the results you wish.” He nodded, turning and heading towards the distant elevator as he added, “And I would not do so in any event. The poor girl deserves rest, not to be imprisoned within my being and torn apart for my own power. I take lightly not those souls which are borne by those I am not forced to face in battle.”

“A fair position to hold, my friend. And not one I know enough on to hold an argument, I fear.” Ozpin agreed, walking quickly to catch up to him and follow beside him. “If you would like, I can lead you to your room. Miss Goodwitch as been preparing it for you and will meet us there.”

“Miss Goodwitch?”

“The deputy Headmistress, my personal assistant, and part of a small group of people involved in my affairs regarding the Maidens and a few other items.” Ozpin explained for him, “She will take your measurements as well, and have clothing supplied for you come morning. For now, some robes have been provided.”

“Sufficient.” He nodded, letting the man press the buttons on the elevator. “What manner of duties do you wish for me to partake in here?”

“I was actually considering that while we talked.” Ozpin answered as the door to the elevator swung open with a gentle chime and he turned, looking up at him with a small smile. “How would you feel about assisting Miss Goodwitch in combat training classes? I feel my students learn best from veterans, and none can hope to match your experience in any form of combat.”

“I will not be a gentle instructor, I hope you understand.” He warned the Headmaster seriously, looking down on him as he did everyone. 

“I do not ask you to be, I ask you to teach my students how to survive.” Ozpin nodded, smiling pleasantly all the while. “Miss Goodwitch will coach you, so you do not over step what is seen as permissible here. But outside that, I hope you understand that you are expected to be a mentor to students, not a base instructor.”

“A guiding hand, rather than a shaping one, then?” Ozpin nodded and the Undead sighed, disliking the idea somewhat and for reasons he knew to be poor. “Very well, I shall once more defer to your judgement. I know not enough of this world to disagree with any reasons worthy of your ears or my lips.”

“I am thankful for your trust, Deacon.” He bowed his head politely to acknowledge his words and the Headmaster continued. “The last question I would like to ask is if you know what a Faunus is?”

“I fear not.”

“Understandable, I suppose.” Ozpin sighed, but the smile stayed fixed on his face as always. Pleasant, simple, and wholly fake to the ancient warrior’s eyes for reasons he could not fathom outside the simple strangeness of the conversation being held. Pulling a small device from his jacket, he pressed a few things on it and nodded, “Miss Goodwitch will have a short historical guide and anatomical primer both in your room. Please read the tonight or tomorrow before Miss Goodwitch comes for you.”

“To what end will I be needed on the morrow?” Rather soon to be sweeping him into his role, but the question was one of curiosity and not complaint. 

“In the morning, Miss Goodwitch will give you a more full and informative tour of Beacon’s grounds than you might have gotten so far.” He started, waving a hand around him as though gesturing to Beacon in its entirety with a simple gesture. “In the afternoon, students will begin arriving, and all staff are required to oversee them as well as returning students. I would like you to help with the latter, however, to ease you into things a bit more.”

“The kindness in your action is appreciated, Headmaster. I shall endeavor to serve you well in these regards, as well as others.” Though he would not swear to him yet, not while that fake smile stayed on his face and spoke of things being concealed and kept from him. He knew better than to give Knightly vow so lightly and so freely, as did all knights even if he had a few more years of wisdom in him than any of them. “However, I would ask after a garden or greenhouse, if you have them?”

“They are in the back of the Academy, where we have fields to grow small amounts of crops, and a greenhouse for flowers.” Ozpin answered after a moment of surprise, before he shrugged slightly and added. “The area s seen to by drones that maintain it and grow the crops, though students do frequent the area out of habit. May I ask why you wish to know?”

“I will awaken early and, with permission, see to morning meditation and prayer in the gardens or greenhouse. Wherever it is greenest and most full of life, and the glorious light of the sun as well of course.” He smiled excitedly at the prospect, and heard the joy infect his words as he spoke. “It has been… Centuries, I think, of my life since I last took true morning meditation or prayer.”

“Of course, you are more than welcome to. Though I should ask you to wait for Miss Goodwitch to deliver clothing to you, we can’t have our staff wandering in nothing more than a simple robe.” The man chuckled lightly in amusement at the quip, but he nodded his assent regardless to be safe. “If that is all, let us return to my office and say our farewells for the evening. I don’t know about you, but I should like some rest myself, and the sun has long since set.”

“Indeed.” He sighed, shoulders sagging suddenly weary even though he felt as fresh as he ever had seated even at a Bonfire. “I should like rest in an actual shelter, and an actual bed besides.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

His quarters were far more than acceptable, when he was shown to them after nearly another hour of small talk and walking across the campus. 

Its door was simple dark oak, set into a warm black wall with a blank plate of copper next to it and a gleaming copper knob the like of which he remembered in the homes of nobles in his age. Beyond it was a hallway about three feet long that opened into a spacious front room, with a comfortable couch made of dark cloth set against the wall on his left, large enough to seat four people comfortably. In front of it was a low table made of the same dark oak as the door, and a black box with a glass front sat against the wall opposite the door. 

To the right of the table, a few feet from it, a dining table for two sat in the center of the room with two fine, wooden chairs on either end with a wide window behind the one on the wall opposite the entrance. Directly opposite the window a tall, silver box of some kind sat tucked against the wall with a large bowl set into the counter next to it and a normal counter on the other side, a wooden pantry against the last bit with a half-wall cutting it off from the sleeping area beyond. 

It was itself little more than a large bed with the usual comforts, though the kind he normally saw made for nobility as seemed to be the usual, and a large dresser beside it. Though tucked against the close half-wall, the pantry on its other side, a fine wooden desk was tucked into the corner with un-titled books and an array of metal pens and note-pads. Meant for his promise to Oobleck, to write of his age, he was certain and surprised at how he looked forward to it.

He could ensure naught was forgotten that he knew, and that spoke of an honorable pursuit to him. 

Curious, he moved to the silver box, and found small labels on them that read ‘sink’ and ‘fridge’ that he unfolded and found small summaries written on in Oobleck’s moderately familiar scrawl. 

“They can preserve their own food in these silver boxes?” He gave it a wary glance, laid his weapons against the wall by the pantry, and cautiously reached for the top one. Inside, he found a pale white space that let cool air waft out, and sighed, “Gods, if we had possessed such wonders… So many peasants would not have starved in poor years.”

Opening the bottom he gasped, “They have ice in their homes? How is such even possible in such a tiny box?” Closing them, he turned on the ‘sink’ and once more his eyes widened at the steaming water that poured forth, “And they have devices which summon heated water directly to them? From whence does the water come? And how do they heat it?”

So many wonders in this new world, from ice and hot water summoned forth by mere machines or magic to the small glass baubles that lit the room. How such miracles were managed was beyond him, of course, and so he simply shook his head and turned as he murmured, “Such wondrous machines…”

Moving to the low table, he found a small black remote and picked it up, turning it over in his hand until he saw the numerous buttons with sigils on one side. Scanning them, he found a red one and pressed it, and the strang glass fronted box burst with light and sound. “-se was found at the scene after alleged intervention against Roman Torchwick, and from there taken into custody and interviewed by Glynda Goodwitch, head of-”

He pushed it again, smiling as the lights and sounds died, “Beautiful…” Again and again he flicked the box on and off, smiling as the picture died and came back again and again. “Tis akin to the Painted World… I wonder.” 

Kneeling, he moved to the screen, pushing his hand gently against the front and then his helmet with it for a few seconds until he gave up and pulled away, kneeling on the floor and looking at the controller. “Is there perhaps a button on this which facilitates such transportation? Hmm…”

After several minutes, he pressed a button and the screen roared in black and white, and he leapt away from it with a shout. A dozen more buttons he pressed, but nothing worked save the red button which ended the thing’s fury, and so he gently laid it on the table and moved away towards the bed. 

“Perhaps Oobleck or the Good Witch may help me with it.” It was no matter, really, he was certain. If it was an important device for him then they would ensure he understood it well enough to use it but, for now, he wished to rest.

And for once, he had a true bed to do so in. And gods if sleeping in it wouldn’t feel as a miracle itself.

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Come dawn he was awake and already walking, wearing his armor but unarmed - or as unarmed as one with the powers of the gods on his lips could be, at least - through Beacon’s halls and outside. The fields Ozpin had mentioned were barely more than an acre of orchards full of tall trees laden with red apples, metal men walking between them that ignored him entirely as he walked the stone road between the two areas. At the end of the orchard were a dozen greenhouses, empty and clean for now and no doubt waiting on students to fill them, six to either side of the road.

He passed them by, moving into off the paved path into the light smattering of trees against the edge of the high cliff, and eventually stood atop it and looked out on an unbroken expanse of emerald canopies and blue sky, stretching out as far as the eye could see in every direction he could see in. He took a breath in, breathing in the sense of pure life around him, and nodded. 

This would do perfectly. 

Removing his helmet, he laid it on the ground away from him with his gauntlets. Then he drew a small knife made of dark iron he’d brought for the purpose, crawling on hands and knees and cutting two circles into the ground with it side by side. Pressing a large hand down on each and closing his eyes, he began to pray. 

“And so the priest said to his flock, carve a circle into dirt or rock. And in the circle burn the grass, with an unrelenting force’s blast.” A simple Miracle, barely one at all, but sufficient to burn away the patches of grass for his purpose. Carefully, he used his hands to clear away any ash or loose dirt, and smiled. 

Finally, he reached to his neck and pulled at two chains there made of hard Titanite, twinkling in the sun as he brought them forth and looped them over his head. Two glowing Sunlight Medals gleamed at him, small faces smiling brightly and proudly, and he returned the gesture with pride and affection. 

“These medallions are gifts from the Sun itself, my friend.” He heard the voice echo, the same warmth as when it had been first placed in his hands atop that cliff burning contentedly in his palm. “Carry it always, as a token of my own esteem and of the Sun’s. It marks us as comrades, and Warriors of the Sun!”

Again he heard an echo, this one bringing pain undiluted by time or distance, “My… my Sun… Where has it gone? Why…?”

“Solaire, my brother…” His thumb ran over the face of one, but he forced the emotions under control and laid it at the center of the left hand circle, spiraling the silver chain around it tenderly and meticulously as he did. Leaning back and rising, he stepped into his own circle and asked, “Shall we praise, as always do, my old friend?”

Of course, the medallion said nothing, but he accepted it as an assent regardless and reached high to the sky as he had against the Deathstalker days before. He allowed his eyes to close with the gesture and, as he came down and in one smooth motion with it, sank to his knees and rested against the his calves, letting his toes and knees bear his weight and lowering his head. 

There he stayed in peaceful, eyes closed and fists pressed against each other with the shining Titanite wrapped around his hands, for a long time. Long enough he lost track of time, until he heard a woman cough gently and turned to look over his shoulder. 

“I didn’t want to… Interrupt, Deacon, but you have been here for an hour already.” The woman said quietly, standing at almost military attention with folders clutched to her chest. “I knew you’d be here, but…” Her eyes strayed to the second medallion and she grimaced, “I didn’t know why precisely, Ozpin himself was unsure.”

“I see.” He turned back to the cliff, reaching for the iron knife and bringing it to his scalp to start chopping at his hair as he spoke, “I am a Warrior of Sunlight, among all the other items I assume he made you aware of?”

“H-He did, and… I find it hard to believe, I almost think it a lie even now, but… But the evidence stands and the testimony of Doctor Oobleck stands with it. So I will just have to get it through my mind.” A fair suspicion, he supposed, and fairly dismissed even by her own words. After a minute of watching him uncaringly shave the hair down to scarcely half an inch of messy hair, she asked, “Would you like my help? I could neaten it for you.”

“A Warrior of Sunlight is a warrior-priest in many ways, Headmistress.” He answered here, eyes closed as he worked. “We care not for our appearances save what feeds into success or failure, as part of our rites. To let you cut my hair would speak of vanity on my part, and interrupted the ritual in it. Thank you, though.”

“I see, then I apologize. I meant no offence.” And she fell silent then, until he finished and brushed the hair into a small pile in front of himself.

“None was taken, I assure you, Headmistress.” He said, planting the iron blade in the dirt between the circles to mark the now-holy place for what it was and then rising with both silvery chains in his hands and then soon returned to place around his neck. One he left bare to the light, his own, while Solaire’s he tucked under his armor safely as always.

Turning, he gave her a smile as he stepped from the circle and ran a hand through nearly-shaved but scrappy hair, “It has been some time since I was able to pursue my faith’s comforts, and I thank you and Ozpin for a place to do so.”

“Of course, Deacon, though Ozpin didn’t mention you were a priest.” With a hand, she gestured back towards Beacon and he made to follow her, stooping to retrieve his helmet and return it to his head as he went. While he worked the padded coif on and then the chain, she spoke, “I am myself fascinated with ancient religions, would you mind if I ask a few questions?”

“I leap at the chance to answer them, Madame.” He answered, smiling politely under his helmet. 

“I, well… Do you have any title that should be accorded you?” She asked as they walked, sun beating down gloriously and machines working tirelessly as they walked, steel chain clinking and heels clicking in tandem. “Some faiths of, well I suppose of my world, they have titles accorded to priests like ‘Father’.”

“A Warrior of Sunlight bares no other titles, save those needed for designation.” He smiled, gesturing at himself with his newly armored hands. “Technically, I am not even a true knight any longer. But such is a needed title, and so it was left with me. You need not call me Father, or anything more complex or honored than my name or Ser.”

“And what does, or did, your religion preach?” She asked, sounding surprisingly inquisitive and eager. 

“Understand, my time was one of strife and simplicity, and my faith rose with it.” He started, gesturing around himself with a hand as they walked. “Even something as simple as an orchard was a rarity, at least one like this, and a place like Beacon… Few enough to be seen as nonexistent, and far smaller.”

“‘Praise unto the Sun as the Father it is, but forge it with nothing more and foist onto it nothing less. Pray unto it, but never through it, and use the boons granted by it to raise sword and shield in the name of the innocent.’” He recited as easily as breathing, electricity crackling off him and across the ground as he did until he waved his hands and dispersed the manifested faith in a halo around them of scattered sparks and embers. “Such is the core tenet of my faith as I was taught it. And such is my honor.”

“That electricity…”

“Miracles, when recited with faith and meaning, manifest into the world as power.” He explained, “That is a small demonstration, but a decent one. In the same manner I can heal wounds, augment my own power, unleashing concussive blasts, and even hurl bolts of faith-manifested into lighting against my foes. Among other things, greater and lesser, of course.”

“Amazing…” And truly, she sounded almost reverent. Enough that he smiled pleasedly at it and nodded, so she continued. “And those medallions? I saw you holding one, but the other was on the ground.”

“One is mine, and the other is… My friend, Solaire’s. He perished a long time ago, and I carry his in honor of him.” He answered somberly, the woman smiling sadly and nodding at the information. 

“If I may ask…” She started, waiting until he nodded before finishing, “If I may ask, Deacon, did he die well in your faith’s eyes?”

“I…” He came to a stop, staring at the ground as his heart ached, and Goodwitch turned to look up at him towering there. Like a monolith of pain, faith and power made manifest of dark-wrought steel, easily a foot and a half over her and half as much wider than her. “No, he… No, he did not die well, I fear. He perished in vanity, though vanity not his own. Yet… Yet vanity still.”

“I’m sorry…” He frowned, shaking her head slowly and avoiding his mask. “I have lost comrades and friends as well, and… I know your suffering. I’m sorry I asked, I should not have.”

“No, you were in no wrong, Miss Witch.” She wrinkled her nose at the name, but he moved on without asking. “He lived well, and my faith honors that. As do you in the remembrance of it, and so I thank you. The pain in my heart is brought by affection forged with a brother in arms and faith both. So feel no pity for me or he, we are as we are.”

“I see.” She nodded, smiling up at him with a spark of amusement on her face. “I would comment on the maturity and wisdom in such a view of life and death, but… I would wager fine money that you are the wisest being on this planet, for all you have gone through and know.”

“Though…” She tilted her head to the side and turned with it, heading up the path and calling back, “My name is Glynda Goodwitch, and the latter is one word. Not two, Deacon Knight. Now, I think we should get this tour properly under way, don’t you?”

“I…” He chuckled, shaking his head and following her, “Yes, Miss Goodwitch, I agree. We’ve work ahead of us, do we not?”

“Remember, my young friend, that an Undead is an undying being.” Solaire’s voice echoed, with the crackling of a Bonfire, in his mind. “And so our deaths scarcely matter, in the end, so long as we live well. Always strive for the Sun’s light, and fight for those causes that deserve it, and you will be a most magnificent man. And meet magnificent comrades for magnificently wonderous and jolly cooperation!”

“Live well indeed…” He murmured, the woman’s green eyes turning to look up at his mask curiously with a brow raised over them. “Ah, well… Would you perhaps know anything of the magic box in my room? It made sounds and showed pictures, but now it just crackles and roars…”

“Magic box... The television, you mean?” She asked, chuckling when he nodded and then breaking out in a peel of laughter for a brief moment. “I am sorry, I just… I will show you how it works and explain it to you, I suppose Bartholomew didn’t think to label that for you. Once our tour is done, of course.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

For those curious, the prayer/meditation stance is based on a mixture of Buudhist style and a few Christian sects, though the beliefs behind it were ignored. I hope you find my interpretations and supplied ideas worthy of the name and time. 

~ Twisted Fate, Sunbro

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Dark Vampire Kisses :

I shall take as a compliment that someone with no true investment into DS finds it so enjoyable to read. XD DS is hard as anything, just have to experiment until you find what you like, perfect it, memorize movements of enemies and yourself as well, and run against that wall until you win. Or in other words, as everyone knew it was coming….

Git Gud.

Rook 115 :

Glad you’re enjoying it!

Guest :

Oh, my friend, you shall see many updates on this story.

Priceless 22 :

Good. So do I. Though for complicated and varied reasons.

Xager the chaos King :

‘A deacon at Beacon’ XD

Primordial Inscriptor Z-09 :

Oh, his role will be special indeed, trust me. For now he starts simple, but patience will change that fairly fast.

The Baz :

For spoiler reasons, I can’t answer that. Sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

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It'z Syndrome: Alright boys, let's get this bread.

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Four days passed after Initiation had concluded, and teams had been assigned and left to get to know each other as warriors needed to. During that, he was largely left alone as he did not know what to do in the Academy’s service as yet, and Miss Goodwitch and Bartholomew were both engaged in their own activities ahead of the start of the year. It was time he took, and enjoyed as well as spent praying, reading what little Bartholomew could get the time to prepare for him about this world’s history and lore, studying the changes in the way the world worked now and meditating on what he read and found. 

And, of course, playing with the magic machines that dotted his dwelling and enjoying the delicious treats offered by the cafeteria cooks every morning, noon and night while he studied and investigated.

Among the discoveries he made on his own in that time, and most interestingly among them as well, had been his Estus flask that he had taken drinks of already yet always found full. He spent some time confirming then jotted down, citing it as due to the Flame’s expanse across the planet at large. His Miracles, and the divine energy to use them as well, never ran out no matter how many small Force intonations he uttered to test his limits. 

It was as though he, no matter what he was doing so long as it wasn’t battle, was seated near a Bonfire almost eternally. Though the effects were slower, more measured, rather than the instant reliefs that it normally brought. 

But he set aside those thoughts, listening instead to the good doctor as he spoke at length.

“And so, twenty years ago, the Faunus Rights Revolution concluded in a resounding victory for Faunuskind and, dare I say it, Humankind as well.” The man said rapidly, words shooting forth like bolts from the repeating crossbows he’d run against once upon a time in the sands of the far East. “Just one more step along the evolution of society, and unity for all mankind against the evil forces of the Grimm. One of many, yes! But a great step regardless.”

“And yet the fighting continues, does it not?” He leaned forward on his couch as he spoke, sword and shield leaning against the wall between the couch and the television with his armor on a stand in the corner to the left of his bed. He himself was wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt, the burgundy blazer of Beacon laid neatly over the arm of the couch beside him. “I recall seeing reports from the Lavender woman on the magical box, what was it called… On the television, was it?”

“Quite right to both questions, my very old friend.” Oobleck nodded with a sigh, sitting across from him on a chair he’d dragged from his table for the purpose. “The Kingdoms permit the Faunus to travel, but people exist near them begrudgingly at best most times, and either turn blind eyes to the harassment and indignity heaped upon the Faunus or encourage it. Few are there who oppose it more actively and are not, themselves, Faunus.”

“And so hatred bred violence and violence bred nothing but more hatred and violence in the coming generations. I know it well, I fear… Far, far too well for my liking.” War was waged exclusively over anger of some manner be it for crimes committed or something petty like wealth, and anger did not die on fields with men and women clutching their weapons to the last. It lived through their children, he knew, almost as unkillable as he himself was. “And so this ‘White Fang’ was given life, correct?”

“Yes. What started as a simple advocacy group evolved over time into… Other things never intended.” The man seemed genuinely saddened by the information, as though the pains and tragedies heaped upon by fate and circumstance were upon his own shoulders as well. “The White Fang changed first into a protest group, advocating legally and protesting socially for changes. Then, when things worsened in Atlas and Mistral and people became violent and attacked Faunus for speaking out or passing through…”

“And so the peaceful gave up, and the violent and indignant rose up.” Tale old as time, he was certain, and always the same. “Lofty goals, mired in the blood and sorrow of the innocent. The same conditions they so rightly rebelled against being placed on them before, they now place on others.”

“I would point out that even now, many within the White Fang urge for a return to more peaceful days or at least the targeting of only the groups actively harming them, as they see it… Imperfect, but a sign that they aren’t evil or overtly monstrous, at the very least.” The man sounded grim as he spoke, voice low and actually slowing from his normally lightning speed to a more tame rhythm. 

“Are you well, my friend?” It was like a sudden shadow or darkness had settled onto his smaller shoulders, gazing down at the table forlornly. “You look distraught…”

“Hm? Not no I am fine, my inordinately unique friend. Merely lost myself to thought for a moment, I fear, it happens quite often.” He gave the Undead a glance, smiled stiffly, and then went on. “While we aren’t supposed to talk about it, supporting ‘terrorists’ and all that as the Council will claim it, I am still… Hopeful, I suppose. In spite of that.”

“Hope is never a wrong thing to hold on to in spite of whatever might come to quash it, Doctor.” He assured him gently, smiling warmly at him and and gesturing at his own massive torso with a hand. “I would not have succeeded in my travels were it not for such tenacious hope as that, believing in spite of anything another could say that something better could come. It must.”

“A light at the darkness, a dawn after the night, and so on as the tired old phrases so full of hope tend to go.” Oobleck nodded sharply and suddenly, the sudden mood that had settled on him like a weighted shadow was gone, and he was back to his bright and chipper self. Rattling out words as though he had no need for even breath. “Now then, Miss Goodwitch has asked me to prepare you for today’s combat classes with her while she sees to preparing the class itself. I trust you are familiar with your schedule?”

“Wednesday, Thursday and Friday are combat courses with first, second and third years respectively. Saturday and Sunday are free days for me to do with as I wish, and Monday is a mandatory staff meeting for all Beacon teachers and staff under their related department manager.” Which for him, would be Goodwitch as part of the combat courses, as small a department as the combat classes tended to be. But he had little to say against it, really. “Tuesday is a day for administrative purposes for all departments where teachers… Do whatever they wish to.”

“Precisely, though for a department as relatively small as yours, with only Goodwitch and yourself in any positions of authority, I suspect that Mondays for you will almost entirely be free days for your own pursuits.” He shrugged and the doctor returned the gesture, tapping three large, leather-backed books he’d brought with him alongside another set of pens and pencils. “As you asked for, I brought more separate books for you to have more space to specify the topics you wish to write on.”

“Thank you, Doctor, I appreciate it.” He reached over, taking one in his hand and enjoying the feel of the heavy leather backing and the smell of fresh paper that wafted when he opened it. Inside, the pages were lightly lined in yellow to guide his writing into a straighter path than he might otherwise have done. “Fine pages and fine stitching besides,” he glanced to the seated and smiling doctor in question, “I doubt this could have come cheaply.”

“Somewhat, but I have money to spare from my days as a Huntsman archeologist and my pay now, and money spent on the preservation of knowledge is never something I balk at. That,” he tapped a finger against the cover of one of the books he’d left behind, “could have cost me ten times its amount and I would have minded paying it exactly as much. It is the least I can do for the generosity you have shown in agreeing to share such ancient history that is so adamantly and totally lost with us.”

“If you say so, I will not be seen to argue against a kindness.” Such would be ungrateful, he knew, not to mention useless. The books were already here, paid for and made for his use, and so arguing the matter would do nothing at all. “Thank you, Doctor. You honor me with your support and kindness.”

“You are quite welcome, and the honor will be all mine when I get to read these texts.” And by the gods if the man didn’t seem giddy like a child seeing miracles in action for the first time in its small life. But he didn’t elect to dwell on the man’s excitement, childlike as it seemed to him.

Oobleck was, after all, quite an odd man even by the ancient Undead’s experience.

 

Closing the book with a dull and satisfying thump, he sat it back on the table and leaned back, asking, “Is that all you needed for today? I would seek out Miss Goodwitch and prepare with her for today’s lessons, unless you have something to ask of me.”

“Nothing else pertinent, no.” The doctor rose, smiling politely at him and waving a hand at the door. “I’ll take my leave now, let you finish getting ready and head out for your day. I hope you have a good first day in actual teaching, and remember that myself and Miss Goodwitch will offer any help we can if you need it.”

“I wish the same to you, even if this is not your first day.” He inclined his head, rising politely until the man had left and he turned to return to his bed and finish getting prepared for his day. 

The uniform, as it turned out interestingly enough to him, was similar to one he himself recalled wearing an infinite number of lifetimes ago. Heavy, leather shoes colored black that clicked as he walked, a black pair of trousers thick enough to be warm enough in winter without being uncomfortable in the other seasons - not that Vale seemed to have a very hot temperature, it was mild enough to him - with a leather belt to hold them up properly. To that he added an old friend of his, the simple Astoran straight-sword resting comfortably on his waist as he moved to put on the burgundy jacket that went over his plain, white dress shirt. 

Not quite as powerful as his Titanite infused and battle-worn blade and shield, but more than enough to at least defend himself should he need it. Though he doubted he would, no knight worthy of the title would go about without even the base ability to fight it the need should arise for whatever reason.

On two nails beside his bed, safe and sound but prominently and proudly on display, his two Sunlight Medals hung on their silver chains. He removed his, placing it around his neck and under his jacket habitually before smiling and pulling it out to hang on his chest instead. Now, at Beacon, he was safe enough to once more proudly display his precious medal for all to see. It glowed and warmed, as if in response to his elation and its being displayed, on his chest and he found himself smiling widely. 

Outside in the halls, Beacon thrummed with life as he made his way through throngs of students meandering to and from classes, their dorms or wherever else. Over all he could see, he towered at least a foot if not more, and they parted as he made his way. In his wake, people whispered and talked about him, and he had expected as much to happen. He was clearly a stranger, and while his presence and status had been announced to everyone already and his clothing identified him as the teacher he was, he knew that children were wont to idle rumor and chatter.

But he could not manage to care less, for the vibrancy of life and simple pleasures that being around it brought were all that he cared for. Each piece proof to his eyes that all he had fought for was worth it, all the prices he’d paid had come with reward, and all his beliefs about the world vindicated in this imperfect but full of life world.

So they were welcome to whisper and gossip about the sword-wearing titan that was wandering their halls, for he had worked for exactly that. And nothing could detract from this victory, he was certain.

The massive, dumb smile he wore the entire time might have also had something to do with the whispering, though, he would admit. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Starting today, in your first active combat class of this Beacon semester, I am proud to welcome a new member of our staff.” Miss Goodwitch said, waving to him where he stood beside her in the center of the wide area in the center of the room, a hand resting on his weapon comfortably. “His name is Deacon Knight, and he is a knight from a small religious following found deep in Vacuo who rejected Aura usage in favor of pure martial prowess, as several other still existent religious sects do today across the Kingdoms. The last follower of it, in fact, after attacks by the Grimm and dwindling followings over the last few years.”

Predictably, that sent the room spiraling into whispers of surprise, curiosity and in some cases even sympathy for what they viewed as tragedy. Using the pre-existing religious movements and their teachings against Aura for their various reasons to further the lie only made that sympathy taste ever more sour. For he could not know, and had not yet asked, how many such sects had been annihilated in the past already. How much blood he was trampling for secrecy’s sake.

But as much as he disdained the deception, and even with the kernels of truth it was that, and the sympathy it brought him he knew he could not context it. The truth was far too outlandish to be believed, or accepted, and even if it could be he was not sure he would enjoy what would come his way as a result of it being spread. And he would trust Ozpin’s words, for now at the least, on the likely results of allowing that to spread un-molested.

He had seen enough cults to Undeath in his time and travels, and did not wish to be the center of one.

“Now, now, children, I’m sure our newest educator doesn’t need you whispering about him in front of him.” The effect was as immediate as it was impressive, and amusing as well were he entirely honest, the students falling silent almost instantly as she gazed around the room. She hummed, pleased sounding, and went on a moment later with a small smile that he almost missed. “As you know, many such isolated communities and religious sects tend to be a bit… Strange, by our standards.” 

“This manifests in several ways, including a knightly code he follows, religious practices and a few items not important for you to know. If you see him praying outside, it is up to him whether or not he will speak to you.”

“I will.” He answered when she looked to him to prompt him to speak, his deep tenor emanating across the quiet room. “Assuming you have pertinent reasons to disturb my prayers and meditation, and show due respect to the area I am doing it in and myself, I will gladly break from it to help you with whatever you need.”

“Very well then, as our newest professor says, simply be respectful of another person’s beliefs and there will be no issues.” Miss Goodwitch gave him a pleasant smile, which he took as approval for how he had answered to her prompt, and looked around the room. “Does anyone have any questions?”

Predictably, what felt like a thousand hands but could only have been a couple hundred went up, each waving or raising higher for attention. Goodwitch looked to him with a small, knowing smile that told him enough of what she wanted. With a tired sigh, he raised a hand and gestured at random to one of the young fighters around him, saying, “You, the girl in the blue and green with the short hair. Beside the awkward looking young man in red.”

“And introduce yourselves as well, if called on, our newest professor hasn’t had time to memorize the classes and names just yet.” Miss Goodwitch offered ‘helpfully’, giving him another of those small smiles he was beginning to take as her teasing him. “It should help him in memorizing names to faces, I think.”

“A-Aika Violet, Sir, and, um…” She seemed nervous, but understandably so when she asked her question. “I, um, I’m just curious and you don’t have to answer, but… What do you believe in and what kind of knight are you? Miss Goodwitch said you were a religious knight and I’m… I’m curious, and I think everyone else is too, about what that actually, like, means.”

“Why, I believe in the eternal, ephemeral and divine warmth of the sun, of course. The life giving warmth, that feeds body, soul, and the plants we and our cattle alike sustain ourselves on.” She nodded, returning to her seat after a second, but he continued explaining for them all regardless of her apparent satisfaction.

Hopefully, a better answer would satisfy more of them and speed this endeavor along. “As for ‘what kind of knight I am’, I believe that to be a question to my vows. Which are private, beyond the simplest recitation of my oath. To protect the innocent, to disarm and defeat the wicked, and to show faith in the sun’s warmth and the warmth of your fellow man is to be a Warrior of Sunlight.”

“Which should sound familiar as a goal to everyone here. I hope that answers some of your other questions as well, students.” Miss Goodwitch added helpfully, both the Undead warrior and herself watching with some amusement as a third of the hands in the room fell almost instantly, followed by another third a moment later. 

Either because their questions had been actually answered or they were suddenly anxious at the lack of hands up, he wasn’t sure. Regardless, it meant this would go faster and could not be helped, and so he didn’t dwell on it. 

Instead, he gestured again and called out, “Young man in the silver looking armor with the avian looking crest on your breast, brown hair, voice your curiosity for me. Allow me to quell it.”

“Yeah, I wanted to ask how someone without Aura thinks they can fight against Grimm?” The man asked, the ancient warrior snorting in amusement at the familiar tone in his voice. Cocky, self-assured, disrespectful and lacking any ability to tell who he was speaking to. 

“Cardin Winchester,” ah, so that was his name then, “you will not disrespect our new professor so blatantly and not expect me to-”

“As you might imagine, I hit them with my sword and then they die.” He smiled, cutting off the woman and resting a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving towards the young man. “It’s a rather simple affair, really. They snarl, I stab them, then they die and I move to the next one. Do you not understand how something so simple as combat goes? I should think a prospective warrior ought know how swords work.”

Of course that sent murmurs of laughter and snickers around the room, and the young man flushed at the insults, even as light as they were. The angry young man, pride pricked and now the butt of his own jokes, simply scoffed and glared for a few seconds before shouting back, “I know how swords work, and the Grimm too, that’s why I’m alive.”

“And your little friends are all dead. Kind of like they didn’t know what they were doing.”

“Mister Winchester, I will not-”

“I would encourage you to be more careful with your words, young man. I alone have felled dragons, drakes and monsters of the Dark unlike anything you could imagine.” He interrupted, voice tense enough that across the room hands fell and students instead watched what was unfolding in front of their eyes. “I wager you have never felled a titan of armor and darkness, whose every movement could crush you or throw you from the mountain you stand atop. I wager that all you have fought, pup, is other pups.”

“And a pup ought not snap at a wolf, for it might find itself in danger of losing its tail.” He let the words hang threateningly for a moment, smiling pleasantly and staring at the young man, before he turned and asked politely. “Does anyone else have any questions? No? Then I turn the floor back to Miss Goodwitch.”

“I would like to point out that this time I will let your impudence and disrespect go, Mister Winchester, as you have been so thoroughly dressed down. And since our new instructor ha seen fit to deal with you himself. It will not be tolerated again, however.” She let her own threat hang as well, and then nodded curtly and said, “Now, I believe it is time for the first spar of the year. I shall select you and your opponent, and you will spar until your Aura is in the yellow or you yield. Will Miss Nikos and Mister Turquoise please ensure you are armed and armored, and come down to the floor?”

“And you and I need to have a word in private, Deacon.” She added as the room lit up in hushed conversations, the Undead dutifully following the woman out from the center of the arena and into the hall that led to the lockers on the right and the administration sector on the left. 

On a raised section, sealed off from student access and in the center of the stands directly opposite the main entrance, he took a seat on a comfortable chair meant for looking on the fights and turned to Miss Goodwitch as she did the same, asking, “What is the matter, Miss Goodwitch?”

“You can’t just… Threaten our students like that, Deacon.” She sighed, pressing her forehead into her palm. “I won’t do anything about it now, and can understand it given what he said, but… Please tell me you understand the problem here?”

“I understand your concern, Miss Goodwitch, I assure you of that much at least.” He started, pressing his fists together comfortably and watching the fight below. A spearman, armed with a long black spear and a small round-shield affixed to his upper arm to defend him while he used the spear in both hands, who seemed to be doing remarkably poorly against the woman. “There was no true threat in my words, I merely meant to stand my ground. I know his kind of man, and he will only be receptive to those who push back against him rather than demand he cease what he is doing.”

“Do you have a lot of experience teaching?” She asked curiously, raising a hand to pause his answer and calling out as the fighting continued below, the attacks unsure and clumsy from the spear-wielding man when compared to Nikos’ sure attacks and accurate strikes that drove the woman back and whittled away at her defenses. 

“Mister Turquoise, you are allowing Miss Nikos to control the field far too much. She has a ballistic weapon and employs it well, you can’t let her pepper you down. Your Aura has dipped into the yellow, and so you have lost, because of this.” He did see the promise in the young man’s fight, but as always it would need tempering. But he did show promise, even out classed as he had been. “Will Mister Winchester and Miss Raven please proceed to the arena floor for your own spar.”

“I have no experience teaching directly, no.” He finally answered when she returned to her seat, giving her a respectful nod as he added, “I defer to you in matters of teaching, of course. However, this is a warrior’s hall, and he a warrior, and I mean no offense when I say that between us I am the one with experience in matters of combat and of those who pursue a life of it.”

“This Winchester, he is of a kind I have seen and fought beside a thousand times, and commanded in combat for what would be lifetimes for you.” He caught the brown-haired warrior glaring at him and smiled at him, nodding in return before turning back to Goodwitch uncaringly for the baleful glare levelled on him. “He seeks to be the biggest and the boldest man in the room, thinking it a sign of strength. The first step in remedying that, so far as my experience shows, is to break him of it. Preferably, I would duel him, and beat him into submission.”

“Which I trust you understand you can not be doing to our students.” Goodwitch half-asked and half-said, giving him a baleful glare of her own that brooked no argument or statement other than an agreement.

“Of course, which is why I bruised his ego rather than his body, Miss Goodwitch.” He pointed out, smiling pleasantly all the while. Truly, he knew, she was quite an intimidating woman for even he had almost balked at her glare. “The easiest way to deflate this attitude is to beat sense into him, but barring that simply calling his bluffs will do. So long as he does not harm others, I swear on my medallion I will not even consider going further.”

“I suppose that’s all acceptable, then, only…” She sighed, watching Cardin mocking his opponent and shaking her head tiredly. The young woman, holding two small axes and armored mostly in chain and small plate, roared and charged at him clumsily. “I hope that you can help him, he has a long way to go before he can become a truly great Huntsman.”

“And you have faith that he will be one?” He asked curiously, the woman humming and nodding. “I see.”

And he could, really, the young man swung his mace with purpose, precision and power. On its own, he could likely easily decimate lesser Grimm in combat. But not larger one, he could tell already. He put too much into each attack, invested too much power into what should be small attacks instead of saving his stamina for a single powerful, precise strike to finish an opponent. And couple with his cocky, egoistic stances and attitude, he would only ever undermine himself and others.

“Our job is to mould our students, Deacon.” She said quietly, giving him a sidelong look and asking. “Can you handle that on your own? I have no problem assisting you, the sparring centric combat courses were mine alone for years and I don’t have many other responsibilities aside from it and our… More discreet alliance’s needs.”

“I shall be sure to ask for anything I need, and invite you to attend all lessons of course.” He answered simply, unsure of his own ability in this specific manner of teaching but unwilling to worry her over nothing. “At your mentioning it, though, I feel a need to ask how things go on that end?”

“Ozpin has sent messages to our other allies, James Ironwood of the Atlesian military and Qrow Branwen who is… A person in Ozpin’s personal service.” She answered, sounding off to say the least at the mention of the second name. But she moved on before he could think on it or ask, “James and Qrow are steady allies of ours, and know as much as you about the truth of certain matters better not discussed.”

“And of me as well, I should think.” She simply nodded in answer, standing to coach the two fighters as that battle came to an end, the smaller but muscled woman being driven onto her back and then crushed under his mace. Which had understandably forced her Aura under par and granted her the match. 

Idly, while she set up the next match of fighters and reset the arena, he began to think. Ozpin, Goodwitch, Ironwood ‘of the Atlesian military’ or not, and a Qrow Branwen only made six agents. When he factored in himself and Oobleck, at least, though the latter’s influence seemed lesser than anyone else’s. And that was supposed to somehow defend the Maiden against the dark forces arrayed against them? He was doubtful, to say the least, but deferred for now until he knew more and felt he could speak these doubts with actual grounding to them. 

Instead, when she had finished and returned to her seat, scratching out notes as she watched, he asked, “What did they think of my story? Do you know?”

“James is hesitant to believe you outright, and he’s looking at evidence that’s been sent to him, but Qrow is…. Qrow.” He gave her a look and she rolled her eyes, uncharacteristically of her he noted, and explained. “Qrow is a flirt, a drunk, aggravatingly irresponsible, foolish… But he’s loyal. And trusts Ozpin to a fault.”

“And so I have but to wait and see, I suppose.” She nodded and he returned the gesture, more content with the knowledge that both were at least hearing what was said and looking at it rather than rejecting it outright.

He feared the world at large could survive nothing different.

“Then I shall await their coming and their words myself, Miss Goodwitch.” He eventually said, the woman looking up at him towering above her even when they sat. “Now, do me the kindness of explaining how Beacon prefers their combatants be trained to fight. I myself prefer a more honorable, stand your ground, sort of combat. But what is a Huntsman’s philosophy of combat?”

This, at least, would be a conversation he could relax and enjoy.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Angeles :

Thank you for the compliments and, at the fear of tooting my own horn as I do so, I was the one which started this crossover genre. The story no longer exists, but I did, and while that - and this - understandably will have dark moments and the like, I don’t think someone like the Chosen could be so forlorn and still retain its sanit based on how the Curse works. People disagree with me, but that is my opinion on it, since morale is so damn important to staying human in any sense. 

As for your prediction on Salem, I can offer no input bar a simple statement - the two canons fit together as best I can manage it, they don’t over-ride each other. Any further statement would spoil.

Yes Boss 21 :

Most of that is spoilers I can’t reveal, or have answered or hinted at already, but I will say that he will teach one person of his faith in more detail. Only, later.

Xager The Chaos Yang :

I have changed your name to a more appropriate one. XD

Rook 115 :

Spoilers~


	6. Chapter 6

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Betas for this story so far :   
DarkVampireKisses: because the others always miss something :D  
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QUICK ADVISORY :

I wrote this in Priscilla’s normal tone, intonation, and Shakespearean English style but… It didn’t feel right, and I couldn’t say the right things. So instead I made a blending of the Old English style and normal English that we ourselves use. Apologies for the inauthenticity, but this was the easiest way to do it.

Special thanks to Dark Vampire Kisses, though, for help getting it as good as it is.

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The castle was cold, enough so as to pierce the armor he wore and chill him to the bone even through the thin gambeson he wore under the plate. He mainly wore it for warmth rather than protection, as anything his armor could not stop a flimsy gambeson would surely fail against as well, and so he’d had it made of thick wool instead of cotton or fabric, which left him feeling somewhat chilled as he stood, leaning on his sword and looking around the castle in his vigil. Even as cold as it was, he could not deny that the moonlight glinting off the broken castle’s snow-laden and ice crusted battlements, such as they were now in their disrepair and dilapidation, were a beautiful and grand sight to behold. 

And he stood atop the tallest, keeping watch as he always did through the hours and days while his lady rested. He heard her coming far before she reached him, her massive size and heavy steps sending gentle tremors through the stone as she did, and turned to see her. 

“I suspected I would find thee up here upon the battlements, keeping the watch as ever, my dear friend.” Her voice was gentle, almost lilting musically, as she spoke and he could not help but relax as it graced his ears. “But I find myself fearful for your health, such as it might be now, my dear Undead. Art thou not still vulnerable to such things as the chill of the wind and frost?”

“I am, but I can endure it, Lady.” He turned from her face to gaze out around the crumbling castle. “I am warmed enough to stand what comes by my duty alone, and warmed to comfort by your mere, radiant presence.”

“Dear Undead, thou must not speak such words so casually unto me.” He smiled behind his visor, hearing the scandal and the joy in her voice, but did not speak as she flustered and floundered. “Thy words do embarrass me and make my heart beat ever the faster with such kind and warm utterances as these. But you know as much, I should think, and simply seek to play with me.”

“I speak only the truth, my fair Lady.” He winced at the name, and shook the webbed memories away before the sorrowful images could return in force. “If that sets a warmth in your heart, then I am happy for it. But I do not speak to embarass you for my amusement, that I swear.”

“I know your heart, dear Undead. That much is for certain, as ardently so as you are seemingly bound to purpose and duty both.” He hummed, and when she stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around him purely to warm him, he accepted the simple kindness without question. “Would you permit me to hold you? I oft long for such simple contact, and you are cold no doubt.”

“As you wish, Priscilla. I do not mind warmth instead of bitter cold, what fool even could claim such preference?” He knew the simple and innocent act for what it was, a child even in her size who simply longed for something as small as a hug from time to time. And he would not deny such a pure soul such a pure request for no reason. 

“Thank you, my dear Undead.” Her hands clasped on his chest below his chin, the titanic woman kneeling behind him and pulling him gently against her needily so that he was still standing but now leaning against her bosom slightly. Not in the romantic sense, but in the sense of a child clinging to her parents or a sibling, even if she was inordinately gentle with him for their size difference. “I do so enjoy these simple moments, as you know. Such is new to me, however, a-and so if I should put you out-”

“You do no such thing.” He interrupted, a bit more sharply than he meant to. But such was the norm, and he knew she took no offense even as he apologized. “Forgive me, my Lady, I did not mean to snap at you. But there is nothing here which puts me out, I am quite comfortable as I am. I assure you of as much.”

“I see…” 

After some time spent in warm silence atop the ancient battlement, he sensed something wrong that he could not place. His Lady was tense, as though something had her on the verge of being truly, “Are you well, my Lady? You seem tense, as though something is making you uncomfortable.”

“I have simply been thinking of what odd a pair we make. I, a half-breed abomination, and you, an Undead knight of noble gallantry if not of noble line.” She seemed amused for a second when he growled in distaste at her self-appointed title, but she did not seek to change it or his mind on it. It simply was, and she moved on without either dwelling on it. “You have not sworn to me either, this I know as well.”

“I… My Lady, you know that I cannot do so.” His eyes closed in regret but he neither turned to her or pulled from her. “I am happy here, such is the truth and I do not hide it, but… I have sworn duty elsewhere. And soon, I must depart to complete it.”

“And I shall be alone once more, in this prison that will feel ever the more desolate for your leaving…” Her voice was low, but he heard the crack in it. The pain there, hidden under a hardened facade of ice as sure and sheer as any of the ice around him. “I… When shall you leave, then? I would not prolong a life of false joy or delay you from your duty, for I know of it and it’s import and do not contest it.”

“My Lady, I…” He sighed and pulled away from her grip, turning as the chill slammed into him and the frigid air once more seeped down to his bones. “I swear to you, my Lady, that I will return. I will leave on the morrow, I will finish my journey, and I will return.”

“Dear Undead, do not make promises to bring me comfort as sweet as it is false.” She smiled down at him pleasantly, hand lunging forward to grip his throat as suddenly as he had turned to face her, lifting him from the ground and stepping forward to hold him over the open air over suddenly black nothingness all around his little tower. “You never did return, even when you gave your vow and I took it, Deacon.”

“You are a liar, dear Undead.” She added before he could say anything, not that he could around the grip she had on his throat. His own hands, titanic strength behind them far surpassing hers he knew for fact, did nothing as it punched at her arm and pulled at her fingers. “You broke your word, and worse, destroyed my home. Vow-breaker, coward, and as good as my murderer. So what say you, Undead?”

“I am sorry.” He answered, and she sneered disbelievingly, recoiling like she’d been struck.

“No you are not. Else, why would you have so easily settled into your new life in that little school?” She smiled, once again her face a cool and pleasant mask of impartiality. “You lie to me, but I am not real. And you know this. And so you lie to yourself. This is a heaven to you, this false world of canvas. Heaven doesn’t tolerate liars, however.”

Without another word, she dropped him and he fell into the embracing blackness, the speed and shadows ripping a startled cry from his throat as he went.

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With a startled, strangled, and distinctly unheroic cry of fear and shock, he shot into the air and to the side, falling from his comfortable bed to the very much uncomfortable floor in a heap of thin sleeping clothes and limbs. He was quick to rise before he even had a moment to breathe or think, hand instinctively pulling the small Astoran sword from the wall and yanking it free of its sheath in one motion, all hardwired from eons of wandering Undead filled lands and facing unknown and unknowable threats. Sharp, perceptive eyes roved over his surroundings, expecting ambush, fire, arrows or whatever else, but he found nothing and so after nearly a minute he finally relaxed. 

“Just a dream, Deacon, just a dream.” He murmured, disquieted by it but dismissing it for what it was even so as he straightened and returned the weapon to its sheath and then to the wall. Quietly, he recited the small Undead mantra he had learned so long ago, using the repetition to calm himself more from his battle-ready state into something more civil and restrained. “A dream ought not be feared in the face of the sun, and in the light of the duty of a Sunlight Warrior. Such is the Sun’s warmth, and our faith, that even the greatest beasts can stand against us only in such false visions as dreams.”

Looking outside, he saw the sun rising over the distant wall of Vale in a wash glorious, golden beams lancing across the dark forests around Beacon and the glittering city in the distance. A sight to behold that still, after everything he had been through, filled his heart with hope and pride to have been involved in its conception. And one that helped him push aside his dream and relax more fully as he dressed in his formal uniform once more, Astoran sword hanging off his hip like a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Outside, the halls were mostly empty save for the tired, listlessly moving students and a few members of faculty, all heading towards the cafeteria. Smiling pleasantly, and with a moderate interest in filling his belly, he began to follow the crowd quietly. It was oddly peaceful, simply walking through the halls with the silent students. Enough to relax him further and-

“You are such a child! I honestly don’t even know why you were allowed to come here!” He sighed, turning to see a pale young woman standing by a corner he’d passed and shrieking at a slightly larger looking one. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious, scowling at the almost trembling woman in front of her for several seconds before demanding, “Are you going to respond, Ruby Rose? Or are you quite a bit happier standing there and shivering like a child in front of an Ursa?”

“I-I just want to be friends, Weiss, w-why is that so wrong?” The small woman, Ruby he knew from the white-haired woman’s words and the class last week and the list of students he’d been working to memorize. “We’re partners! We’re supposed to get along and be best friends!” 

“Because, you child, you are the leader of my team and my appointed partner. We are not friends, and we don’t need to be.” She chided, voice sharp enough he felt their cut even as it was not directed at him. “And with both those facts, you’re still wasting time and fixating on sweets and silly little games!”

“I-I’m just trying to be friends with you! W-Why do you have to be such a me-mean, jerk…. Jerk!” The small girl finally shrieked, face red and eyes scrunched shut before she pushed past her and shot off the way he’d come, trailing red petals as she went.

There went the peaceful, blissful silence, he supposed, watching the small, caped form vanish before he turned to look at the white-haired woman. She too had turned, watching in a far more scandalized and angry fashion after her than he had, until she saw him looking and stiffened. Sighing, he began to make his way towards her and she checked around herself for anything else that he could be moving towards. In the same moment, he saw panic flit across her face and he almost expected her to run off. Instead, she staunchly straightened and met him halfway, smiling politely. 

“Professor Knight, good morning, I… Suppose you heard all of that?” He nodded and she smiled apologetically, bowing her head slightly and answering his hard, disapproving look. “As did everyone, I guess… I’m sorry to have ruined your morning with my leader’s childishness, sir, and hope that you won’t hold it against me or my team.”

She thought his ire was at their shouting and ruining his morning? He could see on her face that she was honest in what she’d said, at least, so that had to be the case. One did not live, or exist rather he supposed, for as long as he did and fall to such simple and blatant deceptions as being lied to by a child.

“Come with me.” He said shortly, turning and heading away from the cafeteria without waiting for her to acknowledge what he’d said. Such was the tone of his voice, though, that even before he sensed her following him he knew she’d obey. 

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to get going to get food before-”

“Your growling belly shall serve as punishment, then.” He cut in simply, turning his head slightly to stare down at the small woman following behind him. She flinched at the glance and looked away, and he sighed. “You will explain what the argument I just bore witness to was about. And you will not claim privacy on the matter after your making it so very public, Miss Schnee.”

Once he was done, he chided himself gently for his tone. His mood from the dream was affecting his words and how he spoke, he could tell as much already, and worked to school the foul mood back under his control. 

“She’s just so… Childish, Sir.” The young girl eventually said as they stepped outside, the ancient Undead humming his question and leading her behind Beacon on his pilgrimage to his prayer spot. A good enough place to center himself for this discussion, so he could offer guidance as Goodwitch had told him to do for students he saw who needed it. “All she does is fixate on video games, a-and sweets, and hide behind her sister. Constantly! She takes no efforts to actually lead!”

“She is fifteen, is she not?” He asked, the young Huntress hopeful nodding at the words and gesturing like that was the point. “If she is so young, then I wager that she has no experience in leadership. She is young, younger than every last one of her classmates in fact, by two years. Two years of training, and education, and yet she is expected to lead.”

“Exactly my point!” She seemed pleased, smiling wider than she likely intended to and gesturing at him with her hand. “I suppose you would understand, given your background, Professor. She’s too young, too inexperienced, to be here. Much less to lead a full team of her betters.”

“Indeed, and only a fool would send someone into war without the proper training. I would never pledge my sword to a captain, or a Brother or Sister even, who was so far below the bar. Such costs lives. And so I would agree with you, only…” He gave her a look as they reached the crop fields, smiling pleasantly but eyes hard as iron. Hard enough she blinked in surprise, hand falling back to rest against her chest, as he spoke the rest of his response. “This is not war, Miss Schnee, now is it? This is an educational institution, and Ozpin chose leaders he thought would become best, I am sure.”

“B-But, she hasn’t even-”

“You say she has done nothing, as yet, that a leader ought to. And given that a scant week has passed, I believe you, for she has had no time to do any of it.” He quickly added before she could raise the point herself, the pale woman’s jaw clicking shut at his words. “She has had no time to learn, no aid in it, and I would wager that she has had little training before now. I suppose you have, though?”

He could guess it, from the way she carried herself and spoke as well as her attitude. A pedigree of some kind ran through her veins without doubt, perhaps not noble as he would know it, but close enough to make the cut for his point regardless. He’d met thousands of young nobles like her, who believed that an education spent on their cushy seats in their shining castles ought to outweigh commander’s decisions on the battlefield or in actual deployment.

He’d also seen them die by the hundreds, and knew her fate if he stood by.

“I have trained for years in how to lead people, Sir.” She tried to be respectful for his title, but he could hear the strain in her voice. The crack in her tone that told of her anger and frustration with him and what he’d said. The hands clasped in front of her as they walked, one hand balled into a fist but hidden behind the other so that it would hopefully not be noticed. “I believe I am right to question such a child being put over me for that very leadership. Or do you think differently?”

“I have, in my life, led men and women into battle. And do you know what I learned as the best skill a leader can have?” She raised a brow at him and his question, and he smiled as they stepped past the greenhouses and to the edge of the woods leading to his prayer spot. “Adaptability and humility, to be willing to accept what comes and work with it and to understand that even as good at something as you may be, you might not be the best. Have you considered that young Ruby might become a better leader than you?”

“N-No, I… She’s just so childish, and so I do not think that...” She scowled, not at him or in anger but in thought, looking around them as they stepped into the woods. “Excuse me, Sir, but where are we going? I, uh, I do not think I recognize this area.”

“This,” he said as they emerged at the cliff edge and the little clearing, waving a hand before her, “is where I conduct my worship to my faith. I, the leader and most powerful member of an ancient and noble order of warrior priests, call this my faith’s home. What do you see in it?”

“I… I don’t know what you mean, Sir, I…” He gave her a look, demanding an answer, and she grimaced. “I see, um, dirt I suppose. And grass, trees, and an expanse of forest stretching out from the bottom of the cliff for what has got to be miles upon miles. Farther than either of us can actually see, I would bet.”

“And that is all you can see?” He stood beside her, arms crossed over his chest and smiling pleasantly when she nodded reluctantly. “Then I believe I understand the problem you are having, young lady. You only see what is in front of you, tangible and solid. You look not at the possibilities. The potential of a place such as this, or a young woman such as your partner.”

“This is my place of worship, and one day I dream of others of like minds and hearts joining me here in jolly cooperation for the benefit of all.” He continued in, gesturing in front of him at the cliff edge. “There will be a great window, so that those here can look upon the wonders of the Sun. My simplistic prayer-circles will be consecrated properly and enshrined, placed on a dais with a statue to the Father of the Sun. Outside, below us, warriors will train together, study and work towards a brighter future. I see it all, even though none of it yet exists.”

“You’re saying that Ruby could be a great leader, that she has the potential for it in a way that I might not.” Weiss asked quietly, the Undead nodding simply and allowing his bright smile to dim, though he felt the warmth of his medallion glowing on his chest. “But… I don’t see it. I can’t. She’s just so… Immature, and childish, and I don’t know how to work with that.”

“Learn then, young lady. That is, after all, the purpose of an Academy. So let it do its job, and learn.” He said simply, shrugging his great shoulders and moving away from her to the edge of the cliff, enjoying the smell of the forest and the cool breeze blowing up the cliff against him. “The potential in things is far greater than the actuality of their existences. I have little doubt that you would be, right now, a better leader than Miss Rose. But I suspect Ozpin sees her potential abilities as greater than yours.”

“I-I see…” She was disappointed, possibly even offended or hurt, by his words. But admirably, she soldiered through it and joined him on the cliff edge. “A Schnee always excels, Professor. At whatever they decide to do, they become the leader of their field or at least a leader within it, and they excel beyond the scope of all others.”

“And what do you think that means here, young Miss Schnee? What exactly constitutes excelling here, and what do you decide to do going forward?” He asked, voice low and calm as the young woman stood beside him and looked out on the forest stretching out below them. 

“I am going to be a Huntress, and one of the best Huntresses that history will ever have known as well. I’m going to fight the Grimm, protect people, and learn what this world has to offer. Then I am going to change it for the better, if I can.” She nodded and he smiled, surprised in part by the candid confession and the maturity behind her wishes. Then she added, “But that is for the future, I suppose. Not for now.”

“And what do you aim for now?”

“For now, I… I will endeavor to be the best partner that has ever existed.” She nodded, and he returned the gesture before turning around and moving towards his prayer circle. As he knelt, she said, “Thank you, for talking to me, Professor. I… I see now that I was being immature and selfish, and conceited as well now that I think about it.”

“You are, even as old as you are, still a child. Young, naive, and not quite matured entirely.” She grimaced, but he held up a hand to ask for her pause before she could respond. “There is naught wrong with these things. What would have been wrong was a stubborn refusal to listen to me, or to change when presented with new ideas. You will make an adept student and Huntress, I feel, and an excellent partner.”

“I am a Schnee after all, Sir.” She smiled, and he knew that the bravado and projected surety was false entirely. He could sense her anxiety and fear, even as she bowed her head and said. “If you would permit me, I should… Go and find Rub- My partner, and apologize to her. Try to make amends for what I said to her over the last week.”

“She will forgive you, I am sure of it.” He thought to address her anxiety further, to probe it and seek to help her with it and her partner both, but… He could not solve all her problems for her and hope for her to grow. “You are dismissed. Go. Enjoy your day as best you may, young Miss Schnee.”

“You as well, Professor Knight.” Another polite bob of her head and she was gone, back the way they’d come.

After a minute of pause, he turned to look at the second small circle in the ground and smiled, asking, “Would you be proud of me, Brother Solaire? I wonder it often…” 

He shook off the doubt and straightened, eyes closing as he began to pray silently. He would be, the ancient Undead knew it as sure as he knew his blade’s keen edge or the grip of his titanic shield in his arm. 

So instead of dwelling on it, he turned returned the way he had come without another word, or purpose for the day as it was his to spend as he so wished. A new treat in his long life, to be sure, and so he returned to his home casually and comfortably, enjoying the sights and thrum of life around him as always. The colors of the people, the sounds of their words, the sense of life around him.

There, he made a tall glass of water with ice from his magic box and then he eased into the comfortable chair behind his desk, one made especially for his size and weight he had learned, and reached for the first of Oobleck’s finely made, leather backed journals as well as one of the cheaper, simpler little folders. With them, he set to writing on the latter to get what he wanted to say just right before he put ink to the finer book for a more permanent purpose.

He had a promise to keep, after all, and he intended to get something to Oobleck in thanks by morning.

“In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by eternal fog. A land of grey crags, great Arch Trees, and everlasting Dragons whose power lorded over the shifting and unknown world and whose numbers blotted out the sky itself…”

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“But then there was Fire, and with Fire came Disparity…” Ozpin read the morning after the Undead had supposedly penned and delivered it to his door, wrapped like a gift meant just for him. Oobleck sat across from him, sipping his early morning coffee while Ozpin read the next few lines and gave him a look. “This could explain the origins of Mankind, Doctor… Or at least a possible one.”

“And so incredibly much more than that, Headmaster.” Oobleck added, smiling almost giddily and drumming his fingers on the side of his mug as he did. “Magic, the Grimm, our own origin as a species yes, of course, but more than that it could explain the origin of Aura a-and Semblances, I… I can’t even begin to imagine how much we will glean from this.”

“Indeed.” No such things would come for a great many of these things, Ozpin knew. But he didn’t see a reason to ruin his friend’s day, and the information was… Interesting, to say the least. 

The book had been titled ‘The Undead Tale’, and covered the entirety of history from the rise of the ‘Lords’ as Deacon called them to the rise of the Undead Curse and his own journey. The details were scarce, as this book was an overview rather than an encyclopedic outline of everything. Nothing that pertained to Salem, not that he could see at least yet, but some interesting things still. 

This ‘Half-breed’, for instance, bore consideration. A woman who could kill anything, enough so that the ‘Lords’ and ‘Gods’ sealed her away, and feared her so much they didn’t even retrieve her when Undead warriors overwhelmed their cities… That, with some more details, might serve a decent purpose against Salem. If he could find her, if she was alive, then perhaps her relationship to Deacon could be leveraged to garner her support. 

If he could find her, at least, thought that would prove a difficult undertaking. Perhaps Jinn… He couldn’t destroy Salem, but perhaps-

He looked up at the sound of the elevator dinging and smiled, standing as it opened and Qrow and Ironwood came into the room, the latter calling out, “Hey, Oz. What was so important you called me here on emergency like this? Burned some bridges to get back in time.”

“And I had to post Winter and five stand-in officers to lead the Atlesian Fleet while I was away on a ‘diplomatic call’.” Ironwood added, sounding less than pleased by the required actions. Which was fair, he supposed. “And you asked us here this early as well, so please, don’t play any of your games, Ozpin.”

“We have a new member of staff here at Beacon Academy, and a new member of our little alliance.” Ozpin rose, smiling and raising an eyebrow, “And for once, this one is older than even I can claim to be.”

“I find that kinda hard to believe…”

“I thought as much.” Ozpin nodded, gesturing at the leather backed book in front of him, now filled to the brim with the ancient warrior’s words. “I suggest you all read this, and then hear Oobleck’s story on the matter. He did unearth him, after all, and see him wield formidable magic in combat.”

“Unearth-”

“Magic?”

“Yes, I found him entombed in a newly uncovered ruin that had been buried for longer than our Kingdoms have existed!” The man leapt from his seat, starting to pace as he recounted the events. “I have since dated the rocks I found him in, but he was fully encased in them. Even his armor had partially sealed up from the ash and rock! And then we were attacked and paired off with our own Deathstalkers to fight them. He-”

“Used some kind of incantation, one I know nothing of, that empowered him.” Ozpin interrupted gently, before his friend could lose himself in the story. “Then he hurled one Deathstalker through the air, and proceeded to kill each with a single stroke of his greatsword. Without Aura, I might add, of any kind whatsoever.”

“And that isn’t even then most fantastical thing about him!” Oobleck rushed to add, gently picking up the heavy book and holding it out for Ironwood. “Please, read his story. You absolutely have to, the information here is… Outstanding.”

“I suppose, if you say we should, Ozpin.” Ironwood hedged, taking one of the several seats across from the ancient Headmaster and opening the book cautiously. He gave Qrow a look and asked, “Should I read aloud?”

“Sure.” He shrugged, propping his feet on the desk and smiling as he fished his little silver flask out. “You read, I’ll drink. A shot every time we hear something crazy, maybe my friggin’ liver will give out.”

“I should think it might, it is the hardest working liver on Remnant, after all.” Ozpin teased, leaning back in his seat and gesturing at Ironwood while Qrow snorted and choked on his alcohol. “Please, James, proceed. I have read it, but… I doubt hearing it again will make it any less insane or enlightening for me.”

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Kaioo :

Not entirely, no. Sienna chastises Adam in V4 or V5 for attacking people that weren’t their enemies. They want revenge and equality, excepting Adam himself of course, with Humans. They simply… Use violent means to get there.

Xager-the-chaos-King :

Yeah, but Cardin wouldn’t know that. He’s cock sure and stupid.

Scrub Lord 97 :

Yes. Yes it is. Very many problems indeed, and some now-foreshadowed lessons as well. Things will be difficult for him.

Rook 115 :

I love world building and setup. It’s oddly fun for me, and easy to write too. This chapter was the other thing I enjoy, dramaaaa~!

Talon Ibn La Ahad :

Always glad to have you.

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Small note, had a wasp incident and am ill now. Will be fine.


	7. Chapter 7

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Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile - “That’s meeeeee~!” ~ Mika

High Priest, Alvelvnor

Priest, The Impossible Muffin

Priest, Xager the Chaos King 

Acolyte, DigiDemonLord

Initiate, Greg Gibson

Initiate, Gentleman Mad

Escapee, Voltegeist

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

So, Fanfiction will not let me link to discord. So, I apologize to every single FF reader for this, but please PM me for a join link. And please consider doing so, I enjoy chatting with you lot. On AO3, the link is viable : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

If I could trick FF into thinking this is not a link here it is (delete the spaces and turn):  
D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

Betas for this story so far : 

Darkvampirekisses, Volte, Sunbro

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So a quick self-advertisement, but I have officially begun work on Re:Programmed, which is an entirely original concept book series that I am writing with the assistance of several members of my little community. It will be a sci-fi story set at the turn of what I call the ‘unification stage’ of a civilization, where governments ally or blob together to unify the planet and start colonizing outward, and set in the aftermath of climate-based catastrophes spurring on much of that unification. The story itself will rarely if ever touch on that, though, it’s just the setting. 

We also have sex robots **throws confetti** ~ Voltegheist

Supporters and those community members I have already enlisted, or will enlist, in assisting with the project will get previews of what is being worked on and when regularly starting after Christmas. Which is when every weekend will be set aside by me exclusively for writing, storyboarding and the link on Re:Programmed.

I’ve spent the last couple years working towards being able to do this and can’t wait to share it with all of you.

AND NOW THE OTHER ANNOUNCEMENT

A second project for my stories is launching along with this, where a member of the channel is producing read-throughs of my stories. Right now, she has one of my oldest one-shots, You Are My Sunshine read and uploaded. We’ve already received some good input and responses and will be improving our formula further, but I would love if any of you could give it a watch, a Like, and any input you have to offer. 

Just search Flowey Reads or head over to the channel, or DM me directly, for links to it if you have any interest in it.

Also remember to comment whatever story you’d like to see done next!

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The third week of Beacon saw him teaching a class on his own, without Miss Goodwitch’s direct advice or support beyond her presence and gentle reminders, for the first time since his arrival. He spoke to her the previous evening over a meal, and she suggested that he start by imparting wisdom to them, letting him form a base from which he could train them set on his own philosophes and training.

Once she had left, he spent the evening in prayer and meditation to think of what to say, and by the time the sun rose he had decided on his path.

“For a warrior, there are precisely two great lessons that all must know. Be you a warrior of sword and shield, or lance and horse, or bow and arrow. It matters not to these two rules.” He held up a single massive digit as he spoke, voice booming around the arena imperiously. His best impression of his Brother of the Sun, Solaire, and how he spoke of the ideals of the Covenant’s warriors. Animated and strong, proud and regal in a fashion blended of priestly nature and warrior temperance. “First among these is that your fellows are your brothers and your sisters, in battle if not blood though the former tends to bond thicker.” 

“So look around you, beyond your teams and friends, to those you neither know or hold warmth towards.” The students did as children often did, glancing cautiously between each other in fear of being the first to do something and finding themselves alone. 

A childish fear, but they were children as he often reminded himself. 

“I do not care what your opinion is of their hair, their bodies, their races, their sex, their weapons, their homelands, or whatever other prejudice you hold against people you know not the names or lives of.” He paused to let he message sink in, waving a single great hand before himself to refer to the room at large and in whole. “These are your brothers and your sisters, those who will fight beside you, die beside you, and you in turn will do the same for them. Does everyone understand the nature of this rule? You, the rabbit Faunus, your name is… Velvet, yes? Scarlatina, if you will forgive the pronunciation?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” She called back, standing when he waved a hand at her to do so. Assuming correctly what he desired, she swallowed and spoke, shoulders scrunched in and down like a woman afraid of offending those around her. Timid, he supposed was the right word. “Y-Your first rule is that we should all be nice to each other, since… Since we’re on the same side? Fighting the Grimm, I-I mean.”

“A close enough summation, yes.” He nodded, smiling brightly enough to hopefully calm her and waving a hand to tell her she could sit while he spoke. “Honor your comrades, respect them, and you will strike ever heavier blows against the Grimm and those who would harm the innocent. Such is your duty, to do both in tandem, for the greater good of all, regardless of who stands beside you or hides behind you in hopes of salvation from the forces of darkness.”

“Winchester.” He snapped, bellowing loudly and clasping his hands behind himself when he saw the man snort at something that his fellow had said, whispering in his ear like a snake or a spy might. Smiling pleasantly, he asked, “I apologize for interrupting your team meeting. Might I be of service in it? Or would you perhaps enjoy if we simply sit and await your meeting’s end?”

“Not a meeting, Teach.” He refused to rise to the bait of the disrespectful tone or name, and saw Cardin’s smile stiffen a bit when he didn’t react to it. Ever the same, his kind of man… “Know what, I do have something you could do that would help. Maybe explain to me why you think that we should have to ‘honor’ the Half-breeds that came to live in our Kingdoms. If they don’t like how they get treated, they can just run back to the nest.”

“I suppose your life one day depending on them means little to you.” It wasn’t a question, but Cardin snorted and crossed his arms in response either way and the Undead nodded understandingly. “Very well, as you dislike the Faunus so greatly and for such base reasons… Perhaps ignorance is to blame. Perhaps remedying that ignorance in your fellows might correct you.”

“What is that supposed to-”

“Miss Goodwitch, I have a request of you.” He ignored the insolent young man, and the anger that action caused as well, instead looking up at the monitoring seats where the woman was sitting. She stood, looking down at him in clear question, and he explained. “I should like for the members of team Cardinal to sit in detentions for the week, and write papers on the history of Menagerie and the Faunus Rights Revolution.”

“What the hell- You asked me!” The man shouted, standing up and waving a hand at him as he spoke to Goodwitch. “He can’t punish me for answering his questions!”

“I am not punishing you, Cardin. Not even a small bit.” Deacon explained simply, smiling pleasantly and turning to look up at Goodwitch. “His team members were talking and making jokes during my lecture, which is a violation of Beacon’s rules.”

“It technically is, and you have every right to punish within reason infractions as you see fit.” She seemed pleased at his idea, smiling thinly in the satisfied way he’d learned over the days they had spent working together meant he had done well. “Very well, Professor, I will see the detentions assigned to the three for the week.”

“Come on, that’s not fair!” Cardin shouted, red-faced and looking between the two teachers. “We were all talking, and there’s other people chatting right now. Punish everyone or no one!”

“Your cruelty and bigotry is fair, then? I think not, and so to expect such from others is hypocrisy at best, boy. The punishment is meted, now sit down and be silent unless I call upon your for your sage wisdom.” Turning from the young man, he spoke again, “Now then, to rule two. And since we lost such time, I shall state it plainly for you.” 

“Respect those beneath you and behind you as you would seek to be respected in their stead. And in all things, conduct yourself with virtues befitting noble titles whether you have them or not.” he spared Cardin a meaningful glance, the young man’s chest heaving in anger and face beet-red alongside it, and smile. “Comport yourself with honor, and do not shame yourself with pettiness and cruelty. Those around you shall suffer for it most, on the battlefield and off it as well.”

 

A common tactic he had learned when he was young, for his kind at least, and saw the kind of person Cardin was come through. Punish those around him, and he will lose support for his prideful nature and insolent actions. Without that support, and in the face of direct retribution, he would then seek to avoid trouble and adhere more strictly to the rules and policies set down for him. Then shame him publicly and state what he is doing which has drawn the punishments on those around him, and direct their ire towards the parts of him you wanted dealt with.

A simple tactic, but quite an effective one, in training young warriors out of their prideful natures.

“These people around you are the same as you in so many ways, countless as the stars in the night sky and the warmth of the sun itself.” He continued, smiling warmly as the words came to his lips and boomed beyond him. To the students that, even now, he could feel himself beginning to care for as befitting their status and his implicit oath to teach them and guide them. “I will end my lecture, such as it has been, with a quote from a man I knew well. A brother in my order.” 

“‘Let yourselves be undivided in purpose and glory and honor by the things which you are. That which cannot change. The color of your skin, your age, your bodies, your homeland… Be undivided by these matters, and instead be bonded in glorious purpose. Stand together, shield to shield, against the Dark for those who cannot.’” He let the words rest for a moment before nodding and looking around at his students, half of whom were listening with rapt attention that brought pride into his breast. “These words bonded my brothers and sisters together, and for centuries until my order’s demise did we defend the innocent. And now, let my lecture be ended. This is combat class, after all, not a lecture hall or one of good Professor Port’s lessons, already infamous even to my own ears.”

Laughter scattered across the room and he smiled, letting the warmth spread between his students for several moments before coughing into his fist politely to ask them to calm.

“Miss Scarlatina, since you answered my question, I elect you for the first match versus…” He spent a moment, humming and searching the crown before nodding and waving a hand. “Miss Xiao Long. If you would both come to the arena, I look forward to your bout. Fight with honor, for yourselves and each other.”

The blonde cheered excitedly, hopping up and vaulting over her team to rush up the stairs to go get changed, and he chuckled. At least she was enthusiastic… Turning without another word, he began to make his way up to where Miss Goodwitch was sitting.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Good luck, Velvet.” Yang said quietly before they stepped through the large doors onto the arena floor, offering a warm smile and a hand to the thinner Faunus. “Lookin’ forward to a good fight with you. And, uh, with the dickhead up there talking smack, wanted you to know some Humans around here aren’t like that.”

“Good luck to you, too. And thanks, uh, it’s Yang, right?” The Faunus, more confident with less eyes on her and a smiling blonde in front of her, took her hand and shook it firmly with a wan smile. The blonde nodded and their arms dropped, the Faunus going on, “I know that not everyone’s like him. I’m, you know… Used to that crap. Don’t stress it.”

“You shouldn’t be used to it, though…” Yang frowned, glancing out the door and crossing her arms, sucking her cheek and then sighing finally as she seemed to resign herself to something. “Sorry, guess I’m assuming crap. Yeah?”

“Not in a bad way, not really since you’re just trying to be nice to me, but… Yeah, just a little bit.” The Faunus assured her, ears quirking over her head anxiously. Like a rabbit listening habitually for predators, a part of Yang thought before she could catch it and shut it up. “Let’s just… Have a good match. Maybe hang out later?”

“Yeah, you bet.” She held out a fist, smirking cockily and adding in a haughty and self-assured tone. “I’m gonna win though, Bun. We’ll grab lunch after, if you’re still hungry after the sandwiches I’m gonna make you.”

“Right…” She gave the fist a glance and then, after a second, tapped a fist of her own against it. Which drew a massive grin to the brawler’s face as she sauntered towards the door without a backwards word, leaving a moderately confused Velvet who considered strongly forfeiting and keeping away from the odd blonde. “Well, she’s an odd one…”

Not that she knew much normal, between the three other members of her team and their various kinds of insanity, but still.

Out on the arena floor the two combatants stood about twenty feet apart, looking up at the administration stand where the ludicrously large form of Professor Knight loomed patiently. Smiling down at them as always, he asked, “Are you both ready? I trust you are familiar with the rules regarding Aura levels and maiming intended tactics.”

“Yep!”

“Yes, professor.”

“Good, good. I look forward to your bout, and wish you both the best of luck in it.” Leaning down, he pressed a button and the screen above lit up as always with their portraits and Aura levels, their names above the bars and a timer ticking down to the match start from sixty seconds in between their names. “An honorable combat to you both, young ladies.”

Around them, static sparkled around the wall wall and climbed into a dome of electric energy, just below the gauges above them at its highest. Then the barrier smoothed, into an invisible energy shield to protect the onlookers from wayward fire or shrapnel kicked up throughout the fight. The large door that lead into the hallway that fed into the lockers rumbled as an armored bulwark closed over it, to prevent damages reaching beyond into the hallway in their fight, and then the arena went silent as almost all conversation died. 

All Velvet could hear was her heartbeat then, the hum of the lights overhead, and her own breathing. 

Across from her, the blonde woman rolled her shoulders and her head back, flicking her arms to extend the gauntlets over her forearms and popping her neck in the same motion, grinning ear to ear as she slid into what the Faunus assumed to be her combat stance. Her left hand and leg came forward, left hand open with the palm facing her opponent while she crouched slightly where she was, bending her knees. A brawler’s stance, Velvet recognized it from sparring with Fox and even before Beacon. A hand open to grapple and the other back, ready to lash forward with a devastating hook. The blonde’s foot angled to the side and Velvet caught it, ears flicking instinctively at the mute-to-nonexistent scrape of boot on concrete.

Sliding into her own relaxed stance, knees bent with her hands level with her sternum and the palms open, Velvet smiled confidently in a way that had Yang’s smile crack ever so slightly and made her eyes narrow warily. Above them, the fight-board chimed in a loud buzz and her ears twitched away from the absurdly loud sound. 

Yang turned with the sound and leapt, firing her Gauntlets behind her and spinning through the air in a flying roundhouse, and Velvet rolled forward under her. The blonde slammed down behind where she’d stood moments before and turned as Velvet did, one arm stretched behind her to fire her Gauntlet and close the distance with her. 

Velvet let her come, turning to the side as her fist snapped towards her left shoulder and pushing the arm away with her right hand, slamming the same elbow into the woman’s chest to drive her back in the same motion and then leaping and slamming a powerful kick between her breasts. Yang cried out in shock more than actual pain, but the sound died in a rush of wind as she was knocked back by a devastating kick, and Velvet leapt through the air using the force of the same kick. 

This time Velvet went on the offensive, leaping through the air as Yang had done moments prior and spun, driving a spinning kick towards the blonde’s head. She braced a guard against the strike, one hand on her bicep and the right arm curled around her head protectively, absorbing the force of Velvet’s kick with her arm and Aura both and then driving her shoulder forward into Velvet’s crotch, wrapping her arms around the Faunus’ waist before she could react. With a roar, she slammed the lither woman down towards the ground, aiming to crush her against the hard concrete. But Velvet saw this easily and caught herself on her hands and squeezed her monstrously powerful legs around the blonde’s head, reversing the move and flipping the blonde over and into the ground instead, and then leaping into the air and bringing her knee down between her shoulder blades.

“Motherfucker!” The blonde cried, rolling over and swinging wild and wide to force Velvet to leap away. Standing, the blonde grinned slid into a more defensive stance with her arms spread wide and both palms open, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “Okay, Bun, I see what you got. I got you, I got you.”

“Yea, then why you all the way out there, love?” She grinned, the blonde’s brow raising at the nickname or the mild accent she couldn’t be sure. It always slipped out when she was fighting… “Come on, then, let’s get this goin’.”

“You asked for it, Bun.” The blonde smirked, easing forward one step at a time, cautiously swapping her guard as she did while the Faunus waited.

When their fingers were close enough to touch, the Faunus moved, spinning on her heel and lashing out with a powerful kick that the blonde brawler caught on her arm. Then Yang dipped towards her, aiming a punch for her stomach that the brunette caught on her shin, pushing her away in the same motion and bringing the leg down. Next the brown-haired woman stepped in, aiming several rapid punches atYang’s stomach, forcing her onto the defensive for several long seconds of sparking Aura and flesh striking flesh with the sound of meaty thuds, gasping breaths and feet scraping on the concrete in the otherwise silent arena. 

Looking for an opening, Yang wrapped an arm around Velvet’s left hand and twisted her to the right, yanking Velvet off balance before she slammed her shoulder into her chest and robbed her of breath. Then, under the blonde where Velvet couldn’t see to predict the attack, she felt Yang’s fist slam into her stomach while the other snaked around her to hold her against her. Velvet struggled, staggering away and slamming her own fists down into Yang’s upper back and shoulders while she pummeled the Faunus’ stomach like something from an old boxing match for several seconds.

Finally, with a grunt of effort, Yang pushed forward and up, and then slammed down with the woman in her hands and drawing a pained cry from Velvet as her back met the concrete. The blonde crawled up her body, using her arms and legs to pin her down as best she could to prevent a counter, and brought her head back with a wide grin.

“Wait, no, don’t you dare-”

With all the force of a landslide, the blonde slammed her head down into the Faunus’ face with a sickeningly wet crunch, hard enough to break her nose and draw another strangled cry. Then for added measure, she socked her across the jaw once, filling the smaller woman’s vision with stars, before the blonde heard Goodwitch call out, “That’s the match, Miss Xiao Long! Both your Auras just dipped into the red, and Miss Scarlatina is bleeding.”

Raising a thumb up to show she’d understood, Yang collapsed to the side of the injured Faunus, heaving for breath and murmuring, “S-Sorry… About your nose, I mean.”

“B’fine. My nobe will be better boon.” The words were slurred in the way a broken nose caused, and Yang grimaced in sympathy as she stood finally and turned to offer a hand down to the Faunus. Velvet took it, grinning a bloody grin and pinching the bridge of her nose with the other hand. “Goob fight.”

“You too, that was-” Behind her, they both saw the massive frame of Deacon slam into the ground as he dropped from the stands on high. Kneeling and leveling them both with a thin smile, he rose like a titan from a movie, and Yang course corrected, “Okay, sorry Bun, that was at least as badass as your fight.”

“Wonderful!” He crowed, arms spread wide as he approached them and then clapped them on the shoulder roughly, nodding and turning back to the crowd. “This is how you fight your comrades in the ring. .WIth all you have, with all your heart! This is how you show respect for your fellows! I expect every bout, no matter how one-sided or even, to be fought thusly.”

“You both fought well.” He continued, turning to them and speaking so that his words carried boomingly around the room, smiling brightly all the while. First he pointed to Yang, “You I speak to first. I saw you adjust your approach and style when you realized yours was failing against her. However, by baring your back, you would have lost your life in combat. Blade, blast and heavy blows meant to kill would have taken advantage of it. It is good that you adjusted, but think of survival next time as well.”

“Got it, Professor.” She nodded, returning the infectious smile and giving Velvet a look. “You have to show me some of those grapples you did, though, Bun. I’ve never had someone reversing me so easily.”

“And you.” He turned to Velvet, smiling still. “You need to show more control of the field in battle. You sought to pin and hold her, to out maneuver her, yet surrendered the field to her at every turn that I saw. I also saw you panic when she got a grip around you. Which lost you the match, in the end. Seek to control your fear more, so that you can reverse such holds in future.”

“Yeb bir.” She nodded, still pinching her nose as her Aura moved to begin painfully righting the cartilage and heal the burst vessels. She saw his smile vanish into concern and added, “I’b bine. Jubt a broken nobe.”

“Still, Miss Xiao Long, would you kindly escort Miss Scarlatina to the doctore?” He grimaced further when Yang’s confusion etched itself across her face and amended his statement. “Forgive me, I mean the… Healer?”

“The… Nurse?” Yang tried, the man nodding at the word unsurely. “Sure, I’ll take her, Sir. I mean, I broke her nose, so it’s only fair. Yeah?”

“An honorable word. Yes, go with my best wishes, and be well.” She nodded, putting a friendly arm around the Faunus and tugging her away. He smiled as Yang’s excited chatter began, already talking about their bout, and turned to the class. “Now then, for the next bout… Miss Valkyrie, and Miss Darkmyste. Come down, please, and fight well as always.” 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“You shouldn’t jump down like that.” Goodwitch said quietly when he returned to the viewing area, the great man humming as he returned to his seat to await the next fighters. “You are known as not having Aura, so you shouldn’t be able to do that as easily as a Hunter might. It will draw curiosities.”

“I am aware.” He nodded, holding a hand up to beg for patience so he could explain when she rounded on him to say something. She gave him that, relaxing into her chair stiffly and nodding for him to speak. “In battle in the field, when I go, I will perform great feats of physical power. This includes falling from great heights. If they are used to the sight, they shall not question it over much when they see it in the field. Is that not so?”

“That… Is quite clever, and a good point, I suppose.” She conceded with a grimace, seemingly not the type to like correction. But she accepted it nonetheless, and easily so, which impressed him greatly. The two character traits rarely coincided, after all. Changing the topic, she said, “That was quite the fight, and your corrections to what both did were admirably said and reasoned. I wish Miss Xiao Long hadn’t broken her nose, however.”

“As do I, but…” He trailed off, thinking of the right way to phrase what he wanted to say. Leaning forward and turning on his chair, drawing a low groan from the heavy metal as a result, he clasped his hands and tried to explain through his smile. “Did you see their passion, though? They fought as equals, and put everything they had into it. And such comes with bloodletting, often enough.”

“You mean to encourage this, then?” He nodded and she frowned, displeased for a moment before she sighed. “I dislike the brutality of it, to encourage them to fight like that, but… But I can’t fault the thinking behind it. Their enemies will demand they fight with their all, in the end, and so they should learn to.”

“Should any be injured more viciously, such as a broken limb or opened vein, I shall use my Miracles to mend them. Fear not.” He nodded towards the door and added, “That was, in truth, part of why I leapt into the ring. I saw the blood and grew wary, so I went to see if I should heal her.”

“You can heal broken limbs?” She asked, the blonde woman’s brow arching in curiosity.

“My lady, if I took the time and focus to tell a truly grand tale, I could heal a lost hand or mend a man disembowled by claw or blade.” Her eyes widened and he nodded to show he spoke the truth, frowning slightly. “Doing so would require minutes long tales of the gods, however, and such grievous wounds may exact their grave toll before my Miracles can heal them.”

“Even literal miracles fail to work true miracles, then.” She snorted slightly in amusement, smiling at the macabre joke. “Ironic.”

“Indeed.” And tragic as well, as had been true in the past. He’d seen good, mortal warriors die because the Miracle they needed took too long to be recited and they hadn’t the time. “Sadly, reality is often disappointing.”

“Then on to somewhat brighter matters, that will hopefully disappoint less.” He nodded, gesturing for her to speak as he reached out to press the startup sequence button in front of him. “Ozpin has read the first book you finished, and I have as well. You are remarkably adept as a writer, considering you are a warrior.”

“I am a monk as well.” He pointed out as the fight began below, the woman with the hammer cheering and rushing her opponent, two black broadswords whistling through the air in response. “All of us were trained to write, so that we could record what we did and when, in case our tales could be attached to a tale of a god’s acts. We followed some into battle, after all, on rare occasion. Further, we could copy older stories in temples and monasteries for use by others, and so reading and writing were valued skills.”

“Sensible.” She rolled here eyes, shaking her head slightly and adding, “I was trying to pay you a compliment, though.”

“A-Ah, I see.” And now he didn’t know what to say, drumming his fingers together and watching the fight below for a moment before simply saying. “Thank you then, Miss Goodwitch. I appreciate the compliment.”

“You’re quite welcome, Deacon.” Her smile was pleasant as the battle ended, her brow rising in response as she rushed to add. “Headmaster Ozpin wishes to speak with you after this lesson, as well. To introduce you to our allies in the ventures we are involved in, a couple of the more influential ones at that. Would you mind overmuch if I took care of this match, so that you can gather your thoughts if nothing else.”

“As you wish, Miss Goodwitch.” More likely, she wanted to give her own critiques of a fight, after he had given his. “I shall gather my thoughts then. And if you would dismiss the class given the hour, we shall depart and head to meet these… Influential allies.”

And when she nodded and stood to do just that, he let his eyes close as he relaxed. A good enough way to gather his thoughts, he supposed.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Nearly an hour later, Deacon and his far smaller companion stepped out of the elevator and into Ozpin’s office and the man would have been lying had he said he wasn’t surprised. The windows were covered, unlike before, around the entire expanse of the room with heavy curtains of thick looking and dark material. In front of the desk, sticking out from it close enough to touch it, a long grey table made of metal had been set with two chairs to either side of it. 

It reminded him of councilman quarters in his age, where he’d both stood guard and sat to speak in equal measure at one point or another.

On Ozpin’s immediate right, a dark-clothed man with a cloak thrown over the back of his chair and his feet propped on the table nursed a small flask. Red eyes met his and for a moment his instincts screamed of Hollows, before he saw the lack of burning embers there and registered the color as being more maroon than crimson or orange. The man must have caught some semblance of his spike of fear and anxiety, perhaps the way his hand had tightened around the pommel of his sword, for his eyes narrowed curiously. He removed it as a sign of good faith, letting his arm hang at his side limply, and turned from the man as he put the flask to his lips.

On Ozpin’s left a man sat straight backed in his own chair, his hands folded over each other on the table before him. His dress was proper and styled, stiff and starched in a way that even to his culturally uneducated - for today, at the least, that was true - mind and such was reinforced by the stiff way he sat. His shoulders back, chin raised and eyes meeting his respectfully all spoke of military rigor. 

“Deacon, it’s good to see you.” His eyes moved to Ozpin, seated behind his desk at the head of the table with a mug of steaming coffee in front of him and his hands steepled before him. Seated there, with what had to be his most trusted allies at the table before him, he struck him as seated in a place befitting a king. “How was your class? I hear one of your students was rather badly injured during it.”

“Merely a broken nose and some blood. Nothing of import, else I would have employed my Gods’ abilities to heal it.” Perhaps such was an accurate summary, and perhaps such was not. He didn’t know enough to tell. Nodding to each of the men in turn, he asked, “Are you the men I have come to meet, then?”

“Yes, they are, and I can’t wait to introduce you. But please, sit, and then we can talk.” The man gestured at the seat beside the white-dressed man, and he took it with a respectful nod to the man now seated beside him while Goodwitch took the seat across from him. “These two are my trusted associates, Qrow Branwen and General James Ironwood of the Atlesian Fleet.”

“General?” Military then, and a high ranking one at that. Which made some great amount of sense, given the tasks Ozpin and his fellows undertook. Giving the man a look, he nodded more deeply and said, “It is good to meet a fellow in the line of soldiery, even as disparate as our types of soldiery may be.”

“Don’t pat his back too much, it’ll go to his head.” The man across from the general cut in before he could answer, smirking and adding. “Hasn’t been in a fight in years, bet on it. S’my job, doin’ the lookin’ and fightin’.”

“An army exists of fighters, leaders, and everything from them to those who craft and supply them.” Deacon said simply, dismissing the man’s clear drunkenness with a tired sigh. “He is a general, and as such I would expect not to see him standing amongst the rank and file. I have stood atop battlements in my time, rather than in the thick of it. Yet a warrior I am.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that.” He gave the silver-haired man a look, asking tiredly, “You’re sure he’s on the up and up? Said it once, sayin’ it twice, I don’t like all this. Screams of bad lyin’ to me, and I know my share of good liars.”

“Were I lying, I would indeed be a poor one, for I do not lie.” He said simply, turning to look at Ozpin and saying simply. “I shall not be impugned, Headmaster. If he doubts me, let him, but I would ask you if you do so as well?”

“No, the tests have all come back conclusive and there’s no evidence to countermand what you have said. And besides that, if our mutual enemies wanted to insert a spy, I doubt they would use such an outlandish theory.” He gave Qrow a look, smiling apologetically with his brows raised, and went on. “I trust him, and so he is involved in this now. Please try and understand that, Qrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll leave it be.” The look Deacon received spoke against that, and seemed to challenge him to speak, but the Undead knight held his tongue and simply smiled politely at him. 

“In any case,” Ironwood interrupted quietly, turning and offering his left hand to him with a smile, “it is very good to meet you. I look forward to working with you for the betterment of Remnant. I hope you forgive me keeping an eye on you, however, until I know you can be trusted for myself.”

“Reasonable enough.” Qrow rolled his eyes at reached for his flask, and Deacon sighed. “Must you do that while we are in a meeting?”

“Yep.” He smirked, taking a long drink from it and popping his lips loudly. “Ahh, delicious and refreshing. As always.”

“Ignore him, Deacon.” Goodwitch said simply, turning to Ozpin and raising an eyebrow at him meaningfully. “You had something you wanted to discuss with all of us, Headmaster? You told me that this would be more than a meet and greet, after all.”

“Yes.” The man sighed, reclining in his chair slightly and looking to Deacon with a firm jaw and hard eyes. “Your story speaks of a woman with beastly traits, a ‘Halfbreed’ of some sort, who could permanently kill anything. Do I have that correct?”

“Yes, Headmaster.” Priscilla, of poor fortune and fate, and a pain in his chest at the thought of all of it. “She was a dear friend and comrade of mine. What is it you wish to know, exactly? I will answer what I can.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Very, very important AN at the head of the chapter. Long one, but important. Please read it, if you skipped it over. Thank you for your time and readership.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

No Count :

Glad you’re enjoying it.

War Without End :

Good news, friend!

JR57 :

I’m glad you enjoyed it. May I ask what specifically you mean, though? SO i can take it as an example more accurately.

Gojosin :

Ozpin and Salem, to me at least, are AWESOME characters. I love them both. The tragedy, the romance to them in classical and modern terms both, the cruelty of their fates, just… Mmmm, give me seconds! Delicious. 

Glad you’re enjoying what I have.

The Fluffy One 93 :

Hehe… Hehehe… Just gonna hide for a bit. Lol. 

The Baz :

Stat sheet will be available after the Review Responses. For this once, at least. And it will be RIDICULOUS by the way, way outside what DS normally allows.

Red Echo 01 :

Spoilers, sorry, I can’t say who or when or how. But they will have appearances in their own ways.

Xager the Chaos King :

You shall see~

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Here is a requested, and very summarized for reasons, list of stats and equipment that Deacon has, employs and equips. Note that almost all items in DS1 are AVAILABLE to him, technically, but he will only truly USE these ones for various reasons such as culture, respect for the wielder, training and so on. 

All items are also max level for obvious reasons.

Also, final note here, his levels and stats here are likely moderately higher or lower than the game would have. Just, uh, just go with it. I didn’t wanna delay the chapter days in researching stats and optimal builds for things. 

Also, some of these stats will be above the soft caps for lore and character reasons.

Equipment :

Shield : Steel shield

Sword : Black Knight Sword, Astora Straight Sword, Winged Spear

Head Armor : Steel helmet

Body Armor : Steel chestpiece, though sometimes modified with a heavy fur traveling cloak. Will be stated if added in a chapter. 

Hands : Steel Gauntlets

Feet : Steel Greeves. 

Talisman : None

Stats :

Vitality : Seventy-five.

Attunement : Seventy-five, but it doesn’t matter in context of the story.

Endurance : Ninety-five. 

Strength : One hundred and ten.

Dexterity : Sixty.

Resistance : Forty-five.

Intelligence : Eighty-five.

Faith : Two-hundred and twenty-five. Which is well above EVERY cap, but… Fuck the hard caps. -.-

Humanity : Treat it as infinite, I guess.


	8. Chapter 8

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“No.” He said again, arms crossed in his seat hours later, mouth and throat tired of answering their questions for so long. None had veered beyond what he was as an Undead, or the power he could directly wield, as yet and so he was unperturbed by the discussion beyond the basic fatigue. “I will not make petty demonstrations of power out of the Gods’ divine miracles, simply to assuage concerns in those around me. Using them for such selfishness and vain reasons as that would be the height of sin, and I would sooner lose your faith than commit such depravity.”

“So you just want us to take all of this talk of lightning bolts, fireball, healing magic-”

“Miracles, not magic.” He corrected idly, reaching for the warm mug in front of him to take a sip while Qrow groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. “The differences are quite important, I assure you. For example-”

“Whatever, call it frickin’ freckles or whatever you like, don’t care and doesn’t matter.” The quite infuriating man interrupted, though he supposed he couldn’t complain about interruptions after doing so himself. “You just want us to take all that on faith?”

“Unironically, yes, I do.” The Undead answered simply, gesturing with a hand at Ozpin. “The Headmaster has already explained to you to the extent as to reasonably satisfy any need for evidences of my origins. The same person involved, Ser Bartholomew, witnessed one of my hybridized Miracle-Pyromancies as well when it was employed in battle with the Grimm. I see no reason I ought feel a need to further prove what I can do to you.”

“While I would also enjoy some form of demonstration as well, for my own sanity if nothing else between this and everything else that is on our table at the moment,” Ironwood interjected quickly, before Qrow could lean forward on the table and say something, “I understand that your ‘Miracles’ have religious significance. Hence your hesitance to use them wantonly.”

“Miracles are the tales and power of the Gods made manifest.” The Undead warrior nodded, “Even my hybrids, as few of them as there are which I am willing to use, are more… More like utilizing a tool to power up via the powers of the Gods. I am casting a Miracle, but using Pyromancy to accentuate it. Such is the power of the Gods, that it informs my every being. And such is my reverence, that even were it to inconvenience me, I will not misuse it for my own ends.”

“But you can fight with it?” Now he sounded curious, less angry and pushy and more like he was genuinely curious. Crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, he asked simply, “How’s fightin’ different?”

“A Warrior of the Sun does not fight for himself.” He answered simply, gesturing at himself with a hand, the other wrapping around his mug and enjoying the warmth that seeped into his hands from it. “When I do battle, I do so for the sake of others. My brothers of the Covenant, the innocents behind my shield, whatever the case may be. Each instance, as the one before it, is one in which I move and act for another’s sake.”

“You will no doubt see them at some point anyways, Qrow.” Ozpin offered helpfully after he’d finished, smiling politely at the aggrieved look the man sent him. “For now, he has answered quite a few questions about what he is. And we have been at this for something like three hours, now.”

“Indeed we have, and I feel like it would only be polite to allow him to ask us some things as well.” Goodwitch offered, leaning on her hand and stirring a spoon idly in her tea. She gave him a curt nod and, out of gratitude, he returned it. “Does that idea sound like an adequate one to move out meeting forward?”

A chorus of nods, affirmatives and varied consent sounded across the table, and he bowed his head humbly, “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“He’s so formal he makes the damn Schnee seem relaxed…” Qrow grumbled tiredly, and surprisingly only slightly drunkenly as well given the nigh constant sipping at his little silver flask. Everyone gave the man a look and he raised an eyebrow, “What? He is. S’not like I’m makin’ shit up.”

“Indeed I am.” He chuckled, to show he took no offense and out of genuine amusement both, shaking his head and turning to the general beside him. “If I might, I have a question for you, General.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow rose over the man’s left eye, the one lacking the little metal piece, and he asked, “Why me specifically?”

“An Undead can sense life with training and experience enough to form the shape of what they sense in their minds, like a picture I believe Miss Goodwitch said.” The woman nodded when he looked to her to check his understanding. “And as such, I find myself confused. You are… Strange to me, to sense. I only sense half of you, and something… Other, that I can’t recognize.”

“Oh shit…” Qrow grumbled, the Undead looking first to him and then around the table as silence descended. 

“James...” Goodwitch said quietly, sounding concerned as the man stared down at the table. His shoulders rose and fell slowly and the woman half-rose, a hand on the back of her chair, anxiety written across her face. “Take a breath, he couldn’t know. His people didn’t even have automata-limbs.”

“I know.” The man forced out, teeth clenched and eyes sliding closed. “Ozpin, please explain for me. I… Can’t do it myself, but he deserves an answer regardless. He was too open with us about things just as intimate not ten minutes ago.”

“General Ironwood, some years ago, was involved in a battle against the Grimm.” Ozpin began simply, watching the white-uniformed man carefully as he spoke. “During the battle, a lesser Wyvern attacked and took his arm and leg from him before the Atlesian military could dispatch it. He uses mechanical replacements, which are just as good as the originals, but might… Feel differently to your senses.”

“I see… And yet you ask me to demonstrate miracles.” Metal, mechanical limbs to replace the limbs lost in battle. Shaking his head, he looked at Ironwood and inclined his head low, enough that he had to turn his chair aside to not hit his head on the table. “I am sorry to have disturbed you with my question, General. I knew not what you had lost in the service of your people.”

“I…” The man sighed, and seemed to relax suddenly, smiling either at the apology or the ridiculousness that his bow no doubt was to them. “As was already said, you could not have known. And normally, talking about it is fine, it was just… Sudden for me. And I couldn’t handle it.”

“Tin man’s not perfect, but he’s a tough bastard.” Qrow ‘complimented’, nodding his head at the general and smirking. “Have to be to survive having a rod crammed up his-”

“Do you have anything else you’d like to ask?” Goodwitch cut the man off, waving a hand and sending sparks of purple towards him. In response, his chair slammed forward onto its front legs, nearly tossing the man against the table while she smirked. “Seeing as no one has anything else worthwhile to add, I mean.”

“I also have questions about these ‘guns’ I have read about.” He gave the general another look, head tilted to the side. “Is it true they can strike down a man from a dozen paces out?”

From there, he noted, the conversation was much more fluid and easy going. And satisfying as well, having questions answered always was to him. Ever a curious mind always searching for new information he knew he was, like a glutton ever searching for fresh food to taste and enjoy.

As the evening grew long, the meeting was adjourned and he descended the elevator with Goodwitch in a pleasant mood and atmosphere. Together and in silence, they made their way through the halls towards her room, until she finally spoke, “If your Miracles are activated by speech… What happens when they’re written down?”

“Depending on the writer and intent, the tomes become powerful in their own right.” He answered, arms clasped across his stomach like the monks of monasteries he had enjoyed dwelling in in his distant past. “Were I to fashion a tome of consecrated, blessed pages, stitched of the finest leathers, papers and golden thread to match your hair,” she smiled at the joke, such as it was, and he moved on, “perhaps crusted in gems if I am feeling particularly in need of powerful Miracle users, and murmured the words as I spoke… Even you would be able to use Miracles comparatively easily.”

“Sounds powerful.” She noted casually, giving him a sidelong glance. “Ozpin would love to have such… Power available against the Grimm and our other adversaries. It could turn the tide against the Grimm.”

“Or cause more wars, as men and women lead each other onto fields with tomes of might or against them.” Men were a fickle lot, he knew. As likely to slaughter each other as the enemy, if they thought they could give themselves a better edge in whatever avenue they pursued. “Introduce the powers I hold in my hand into the world in a select population, you create a vacuum to be filled with blood and dust. Introduce it to all, and you get the blood and dust more evenly, but blood all the same.”

“Experience teach you that?”

“Indeed.” He didn’t elaborate and, thankfully, she didn’t push him on it. Instead, they returned to their comfortable silence for several more minutes until he spoke again, “I would not make these tomes lightly, Headmiss-”

“Glynda.” She corrected quietly. “We are colleagues and allies, not strangers. And you are certainly not a student of mine to address me by my title either.” Under her breath she added, “Not that anyone is liable to be able to give you instruction any time soon.”

“Experience is the ultimate instructor, Glynda. In every matter, experience is our instructor. And time wields it against us all equally, including myself.” He smiled politely at her, coming to a stop by her door and inclining his head. “And on the topic of time, I fear ours together to be at an end for the evening.”

“Poetic.”

“The monks who trained me educated me well.” He nodded, teasing the edge of bragging and smiling as he turned. Over his shoulder he added, “Good evening to you, Glynda. Sleep well, I hope.”

“The same to you, Deacon.” She called out as he left, his heavy footfalls carrying him away from the young woman. Curious eyes followed him, and then she smiled and sighed, bringing out her Scroll and hitting the end call button when he was far enough to not be able to see her. “Curious man…”

And one who, she knew, would forgive her deception if he found out since it had been done in line with her duty.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“He grabbed it by the tail, and threw it like it was nothing.” Oobleck finished, sitting across from the caped man and sipping at his slightly diluted coffee, enjoying the equally slightly different burn it left. “This is after I excavated him, mind you. He simply threw them aside and cut them down like nothing. Right through the armor with sheer strength.”

“So he’s tellin’ it all straight?” Qrow asked, eyes narrowed as he watched the professor think for half a second and then simply nod. No sign he was coerced then, as unlikely as that had been it was still eliminated. “And there’s no chance he was planted there? Bein’ strong is one thing, havin’ magic of any kind s’a whole ‘nother.”

“And both could be faked by those interested in doing so, yes.” Salem he meant, even if he wasn’t completely sure about what that name meant and implied beyond the basics. Ozpin rarely listened to anyone, but of course Jimmy had sold him on ‘compartmentalization’... “But they weren’t. Everything in the area had been dated already, by associates I have worked with for years and myself, before I went in and found him. And all matches what the rock around him showed, with no signs of alteration to the rock around him.”

“Hm.” He sighed, nodding even if the answers all lined up perfectly. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m quite-” The mug he lifted to his lips cracked around the handle and fell, dousing the doctor in hot coffee that flecked off Aura and clothing both to pool around the floor. Sighing, the man set the handle on the table and gave Qrow a look. “Well, isn’t that just-”

“Don’t say it…” He sighed, standing and moving around the man’s messy room, plucking a roll of paper towels off the desk across from the bed. Kneeling and dabbing up the spilt coffee while the educator changed his slacks and shirt, Qrow continued, “But you didn’t see him use any other ‘miracles’ then?”

“I’ve not seen the powers these ‘Maidens’ allegedly wield either.” He pointed out instead of answering, though that was answer enough for the Huntsman. “You and Ozpin say it, you have offered reasoned evidence, and so I accept it. You should offer Ser Knight in the same way, at least until you have direct reason not to.”

“I don’t trust easy.” He pointed out, even though everything was telling him he should. Sighing and balling up the paper towels, he straightened where he knelt and added, “But bein’ paranoid ‘bout nothin’ won’t help anything.”

“So you’re done?” Oobleck asked, wearing cotton pajamas now and a sleeveless shirt while he buttoned up a black dress one over it. “You’ll at least grant him the benefit of the doubt until such time as he shows himself to be a threat? I ask because I won’t allow you to put at risk what is likely the most-”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t roll any damn dice with ‘the historical find of the species’ or whatever the god damn...” He chuckled when the man gave him a sour, unamused look. Standing and rolling his neck until it popped, he went on. “Every damn piece of proof we got says he’s cleaner than any whistle I’ve ever seen. And the man walks ‘n talks like a damn saint or somethin’. All this honor and piety…”

“Ruffles the feathers?”

“Funny, Doc, real damn funny… Fuckin’ riot, you are.” Oobleck smirked like he thought he really was and Qrow turned, shaking his head and waving a hand as he moved for the door. “Sorry ‘bout your mug, and the pants and stuff. Thanks for the talk, though.”

“I hope it was quite illuminating.”

“Like a frigging flashlight, Doc!” He called, kicking the door shut behind him as he stepped into the hall. “Still rubs me the wrong damn way, though… But maybe I am bein’ paranoid ‘bout him.”

He’d find out, eventually. He always did, thanks to his stellar luck.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The next morning came in the same abrupt, bright splendor to which he believed himself to be blessed. Bright oranges, pinks, purples and more painting the sky as that great orb of fire crested the horizon. Standing in his room, a hot mug of coffee steaming in his hands, he felt more at peace than he had for thousands of life times of conflict, death and endurance the likes of which had robbed everyone around him of soul, mind and often even body.

And yet he stood, enjoying the warm rays of the sun, idle chatter from his electronic box, and the hot drink in his hands.

“Fate and tragedy do, it seem, go more often than not hand in hand.” He shrugged his great shoulders and turned, moving towards his bed and leaving his mug on his desk as he went, careful to avoid the scattered papers next to the leather bound tome he’d spent some of the morning working on. “But I can’t stand against fate, and have a duty to do besides, so best to get a move on.”

Before he was late in attending to lessons today, and had to face down Glynda’s wrath without his mighty shield’s protection.

Outside in the hall, to his surprise, he found the alcoholic from the night before waiting, leaned against the wall by his door. Raising an eyebrow and resting a hand on his sword’s pommel, he greeted the man, “Qrow. What brings you to me so early this morn? Business, I should think.”

“Nah, not business right now. Or not, you know, official business at least.” The man pushed off the wall, one hand in a pocket and the other running fingers through his hair. “Came by to, you know… Apologize, for last night.”

“Apologize?” That was surprising, to say the least. “Forgive me if you can, Mister Branwen, but you don’t seem the type to so blatantly apologize. Further,” he raised a hand when the smaller, wiry man made to speak, “I took no offense, in truth. You’ve a right to question my origins and motives, given your particular profession’s similarly particular risks.”

“Yeah, well…” He scratched at his chin and deflated, hunched over and tired looking. “So that makes shit awkward now… Great.” Waving a hand at the Undead and turning, he added in a quiet voice, “Walk and talk, bug guy. Walk ‘n talk.”

“What do you wish to speak about?” He asked, lumbering along beside the smaller man, taking smaller steps for fear of outpacing the man. Only slightly though, thanks to his small companion’s long legs and stride. “As I said, I took no offence at your behavior, save the drinking. Though I wager that has cause in-”

“Girl I cared about more ‘n life itself a good long while back died, best friend won’t so much as talk to me any more and my sister’s literally a bandit. My Semblance s’also a problem, causes hell for everyone ‘round me and alcohol numbs it just a bit.” He said with a short grunt to finish, not sparing him more than a glance. “Figured I owed ya, for puttin’ up with my crap last night. And you told me enough shit to just about equal out.”

“As I said, once more I will repeat, you owe me no apology so far as I see.” He said quietly, adding after half a second, “However if it makes you feel better, I accept your apology and offer my gratitude for it and your candor. As well as my sympathies, for it sounds like you have lost much in your life.”

“Yeah.” The man sighed, nodding curtly at the statement. “Too much to bear, some would say, but… But they ain’t met you, and don’t know the shit I know. Haven’t seen the kind of crazy we get to dealin’ with. Have they?”

Even if drinking was a poor way to cope with the issues at hand, that it had a reason to it somewhat dulled his distaste of it. Every man had a vice, and every vice had a man that needed it in some way or another. Some reasons and needs were worthy of condemnation, but not these, to his mind at least. Even he had things he needed to get through the days and weeks, and his medallion glowed warmly at the thought as though to reinforce the understanding there.

Odd little thing, sometimes, if precious regardless.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to go on a Hunt with me, sometime this week.” He hummed in question, sound rumbling out of his chest and around him loudly enough. “I go on ‘em now and again, keep the skills sharp and off some Grimm so no one gets hurt. Figured I’d invite you along, let you get some field work in and maybe help some folk.”

“Clear it with Mistress Goodwitch, and I would be honored.” He said simply, inclining his head politely at the man when he looked. “I’ve too much on my plate, at the moment, to seek more myself. While I would relish taking steel to the Grimm, I can’t take the time to seek it myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, you just don’t want to deal with scary, scary Goodwitch. Fight some friggin’ dragons, but an irate blonde has you quiverin’ in your greaves.” He didn’t deny the accusation, for it was frankly mostly true. Amazing how a disappointed Goodwitch already terrified him, a sentiment that everyone around him also seemed to hold. “I’ll chat her up ‘bout it then, it’ll be this weekend though. Not much worth worrying about, just Ursas, Beowolves that sort of thing.”

“I shall be ready, if allowed.” He said, stopping in front of the door outside the training arena and bowing his head again. “This is where we part ways, however. I have lessons to oversee. I hope you have a good day, Mister Branwen.”

“Qrow.” He corrected simply, turning and heading back the way they’d come, waving a hand over his shoulder as he went. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Wrote this over Christmas, ,so forgive the shortness. Next chapter is the start of the second mini-arc, with Qrow on a Grimm hunt. Hope you look forward to it, and enjoyed this smaller update as well. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)


	9. Chapter 9

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

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Golden Gangstar

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Where, precisely, do we intend to venture out to for our Grimm hunt?” He asked, hefting the two leather traveling bags bags under his arms, carrying them up and into the Bullhead to leave them for Qrow to organize. The smaller man gave him a sour look, kneeling to tuck the long bags under the seats, and he shrugged with the question, “I mean no offense, Qrow. I am… Merely curious, and attempting to make casual conversation, that is all. Though in truth, I am lacking practice in such pleasantries...”

“Half an hour west, past Vale and towards the frontier out in the Red Forest region. Terrain’s gentle there for walkin’, but the tree limbs spread out way too much to land most places.” The man shrugged, watching Deacon haul his shield and sword into the craft and set them one the seats closest to the ramp. “So gotta land in an old settlement, not been lived in since… Well, not been lived in for a while. Hunters keep some of the houses in good shape, though, for workin’ the area.”

“A wise decision.” A waystation would let them rest relatively safely, pool resources and information on the area, and even meet up on occasion. “Your Hunters seem ever more and more, to me, like the Rangers of my Age. Is that why we are taking so much more than we ought possibly need on a simple hunting expedition? Facing Grimm or no, you have thrice what two men would need.”

“Yeah, was there a month back, and it was pretty low on supplies.” He grunted as Deacon pitched up a small crate of canned goods, the man catching it and staggering with a sour grumble. “Easy with the stuff, big ‘un, got some jars in some of these. Dust in a few too, and we don’t want that goin’ up.”

“Indeed. Forgive my loss of though, I allowed myself to become distracted by my own curiosities...” A lack of discipline, he knew but did not say. A slip of focus that, in combat, could see himself lose much and his allies lose even more. Honest once, unforgivable twice, and so he would endeavor to prevent the unforgivable. “On my honor, it shall not happen again, Branwen.”

“Qrow, not Branwen, and… Fuck sake, man, ou have got to lighten up just the tiniest damn bit.” The man grunted a laugh and turned, sliding the small crate into an overhanging shelf, securing it with a black, cloth cargo net. That the Undead knight would not consider ‘lightening up’ was something he left unsaid, carrying two long, rectangular crates into the craft. The infinitely younger man took them both under his arms, setting them on the floor to tuck under the last available spots under the seating. “That the last of it? ‘Cause we’re startin’ to run outta space in here.”

“Indeed.” He hesitated for a moment before sighing and speaking, “Qrow, I would offer you something, while we are in the field.”

“Yeah?”

“It is naught but advice, for fighting alongside one such as I.” He began, taking a seat in the back corner of the Bullhead, leaning his armored shoulder against the armored hull of the craft and watching the man look curiously at him and work. “I require…” He gave the massive length of his sword a meaningful nod, “room to fight. My swings carry great momentum, by the design of the sword according to its purpose, and if you get in the way…”

“Hey, I know how to fight with a partner.” The man snorted, and the Undead blinked owlishly at the choice of the word. “Yeah, even a big motherfucker like you. Had a partner who used a big god damn sword back in the day, when I attended here. Looks about… Five or six feet long, so I gotta give you ten for steppin’. Right?”

“Indeed.” The man was clever and observant, and the ancient warrior regretted having not given him more credit before. Even now, the man reached for the little silver flask and took a long drink, and the Undead wondered for a moment how capable he would be sober. “I simply hoped to warn you of it. My Miracles as well have a proclivity to spread damage over an area, but aside from personal buffs and ranged attacks, I should not need any of them.”

“Yeah, don’t count that out. Never know the shit you’ll find when you go huntin’ Grimm.” The Huntsman slapped a hand against the door as he joined the ancient Undead, sitting across from him as the ramp closed and he reclined, hands clasped behind his head. “Go out to fight small fry, might end up fightin’ a friggin’ Goliath or somethin’ ridiculous like that. Never really know.”

“Indeed.” He could still remember going out on a bridge to face some Hollows and receiving a fire-filled and distinctly draconic surprise. “Let us see to a successful end for our hunt then, Qrow. No base beast shall face us down and survive, I am certain of that more than nearly anything else.”

“Now, I’m gonna start explainin’ the mission. Kill some time, mostly.” The Undead warrior nodded, sitting quietly and waiting while the man took another long from his little silver flask. Which, he noticed now, had a little flower engraving on the bottom. 

Odd, the man didn’t seem the flower type.

“Got a report passed up from Ironwood a bit after we all met your big, older ‘n dirt apparently self.” He started quietly, sounding bored and looking it too. “Grimm gathering off to the West of Vale, numbers too large for the military to deal with right now. They’ve got way to much on their hands, and not enough Specialists to deal with it or ships to carpet bomb the area into submission ahead of their robots.”

“And thus we are called upon.” He guessed, not missing the slight heat towards the end of the man’s speech. 

“Yeah, thus and called on and all that.” The man grunted, turning and laying across the seats. “We go, kill the Grimm, head back to the wayststation and call up Jimmy. He sends some drones out to check out the numbers, we go home, we get paid. Crystal?”

“I do not understand the-”

“Means do you understand the gist?” He sighed, cracking an eye to watch the man’s helmed head nod. “Good, then… Meditate, or pray, or whatever you do to pass the time. I’m grabbin’ some extra shuteye, ‘fore we get there and have to fight somethin’ ridiculous like a Goliath or a dragon or somethin’ else fuckin’ crazy.”

“Would not the General’s report contain such creatures’ presences?” He asked, head tilted to the side slightly with his question. “To run into such creatures that just happen to have evaded detection would be the worst manner of luck I-”

“Gettin’ some sleep.” Qrow cut the Undead off, Deacon blinking confusedly at the man as he rolled over so his back faced the Undead warrior. “Pilot I'll let us know when we get close, so do me a favor and let me get my damn rest?”

“As you wish, Qrow Branwen. Enjoy your rest, such as it may be, while you have it.” His own eyes closed a moment later, easily slipping into thoughtful meditation as the man had suggested. A good enough way of passing the time, he supposed. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I don’t think that this is how we should be handling him, Ozpin.” Goodwitch said quietly, standing across the desk from the headmaster, leaning against it with her arms crossed and watching the little silver Bullhead rise into the sky and turn, angling away from Beacon gently. “He’s been nothing but honest and open with us so far, and I don’t understand why we should treat him any differently. A lot of it has solid proof as well, Oobleck’s tests stand for themselves.”

“His story is outlandish and, if true, he’ll be an incredible asset in our fight against Salem. His origin as some form of ancient, immortal being is also not in question anymore.” Ozpin agreed, taking a sip from his mug and returning to reading through the book Deacon had written for the tenth time. Looking for… Anything useful to him, really. “Qrow doesn’t trust his intentions as of yet, and while he acts the honorable knight, such could simply be a ruse. Allowing Qrow to take him out on a Hunt and test him takes a step towards solving both problems for us. And, happy coincidence indeed, it means less Grimm surrounding Vale as well.”

“You could have told him.” She pointed out, the man behind her humming in thought. “I would wager a month’s wages that he’d have gone along with it if you had. He seems to understand the concepts of due paranoia.”

“Telling him would largely defeat the point, Glynda.” The ancient man chuckled regardless, giving her back a glance and adding, “For what it’s worth, I think Qrow’s mistrust is misplaced. Salem has far more direct ways of attacking us, and I highly doubt spinning an outlandish fiction such as this. Much less the fact she’d have had to gift him magical power somehow, and immortality given his former home stuck in the rock and ash of centuries past and buried in a desert.”

“Then why go along with it?” She glanced over her shoulder, a prim brow raising in question. “If you believe him, then what is the point of these tests and deceptions?”

“There are two answers to that question, actually.” He said quietly, closing the book finally and setting it aside, leaning back in his chair as he spoke. “The first is that letting this mistrust fester in Qrow wouldn’t do anything we would want, and merely ordering him to dismiss it… Won’t accomplish anything. He’ll simply mistrust him, and such could end up quite poorly when I could instead solve it outright.”

“Qrow is a stubborn, mistrustful man… But that makes sense, given our jobs and his rather unfortunate background, both before coming to us and after as well.” She sighed, sounding resigned and unwilling to argue against what the man had said. And knowing both that he wouldn’t change his mind and that it was too late to do anything anyways, with the Bullhead gone and on its way. “The other reason?”

“One more proof of what he claims is not something I would refuse.” He shrugged simply, smiling pleasantly and tapping his thumb against the side of his mug idly. “Due paranoia, as you said it. Once Qrow is alright, this will be in the past and forgotten. Regardless, Qrow was headed out there per Ironwood’s request, and him having backup is only a positive.”

“I suppose…” She pushed off the table, turning to give the Headmaster a respectful nod, “I have work to do, given that someone sent off the combat instructor on a mission. With less than a week of warning, I add with some serious aggravation.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea who would be quite so foolish.” He smiled, taking a quick sip of his coffee while she glared balefully. “My, look at the time… I believe combat courses start in an hour.”

“One of these days, Ozpin…”

“What?” He grinned teasingly, raising an eyebrow and asking, “You’ll kill me? By all means, I’ll take the vacation and be back inside a month.”

“I loathe you.” She groaned, heels clicking as she made her way to the elevator and left the pleasantly smiling man to his work. 

Now he just had to hope his private suspicions about the cause of the Grimm numbers spiking was, in fact, not true. If Salem was swelling Grimm numbers in the area again, he had to wonder if it was part of a strategy to weaken Vale itself, or a cover for something more malicious… Qrow would find out, he was certain, but the risk of Salem’s hand being involved in this was too great. And sending their immortal comrade into the fight served the dual purpose of preventing the dangers that posed and possibly answering the question of Deacon’s loyalties and where they lay.

After all, if Salem were his mistress, then the opportunity to remove such a potent ally as Qrow Branwen would be too much for a servant of Salem to let go. And Qrow knew that as well as he did, which was the point of the test at hand that they’d devised between them. If the ‘Undead’ tried to kill him, that would solve the question, and just as much would be the case if he did not do so.

According to Oobleck, the Undead was a goliath of power and able to leap far distances, but slower than most. Likely due to his hefty armor and weaponry, but whatever the case, that meant that Qrow would almost definitely be able to outrun him if push came to shove. 

Now he had to wait, and hope that if it turned out Qrow’s suspicions were entirely unfounded, Glynda would not find out. Immortal he may be, but that woman was still terrifying and smart enough to know how to hurt a man in ways that wouldn’t kill him.

Which reminded him of his still-fresh pot of coffee, and drew a smile. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The waystation that was to be their home, albeit for only a short time, was, to the Undead, disappointingly simplistic. Not in the sense of being under-designed for his own tastes or needs, which were more spartan than most others could be comfortable with, but in comparison to what he’d seen already of the architecture of this thus far unnamed - to his knowledge, at the least - Age. 

Which was fair enough, he supposed, given how difficult to out-do the regal and high rising design that the buildings of Beacon had clearly been built with, and how difficult to beat out the nigh monolithic towers of glass, man-made stone known as ‘concrete’ and steel he could make out in the distant city of Vale themselves were. Always that city sparkled, like the stars in the night sky dashed across the walls of a city by the hands of a god of artistry, master crafting each and every singular piece of the distant city.

This construct, unlike theirs, was far more simplistic and ascetic in design. Rugged and militant, or perhaps survivalistic was the better term, then anything he’d seen at Beacon or in the city.

The building proper was three floors and made of the grey stone called ‘concrete’, apparently a durable material that was cheap enough to make and easily transported thus causing it to replace stonework fortifications. The first floor was void of windows, likely for security reasons given the difficulty defending long panels of glass would pose against massive wolves that would simply seek to leap through them, while the third had its walls made entirely of large panels of glass with heavy looking steel protections riveted along the edges and sticking a few inches out onto the glass protectively. Five smaller panels of glass, also reinforced by steel edging, were lined along each tall window’s center and, according to Qrow when he asked, were armored and could be opened to fire out of in case of Grimm attack. 

The glass paneling was, apparently, meant to direct Grimm attacks up where it would be harder and defenders would be waiting for them. And the black tinting to the glass itself could hide people inside from prying eyes, while the occupants watched their surroundings without any barrier. 

The roof had a landing pad, raised up from the gravel-covered roof on steel struts, large enough for two of his craft to land. Around the periphery were barriers made of stone and lined with steel that stood half a man high, another barrier to fight from behind for whoever needed it. Four heavy, blocky looking machines Qrow explained as ‘turrets’ sat on each corner of the building, three massive barrels set in the center of a heavily armored brick attached to a round piece that was set into the roof. 

Apparently, they would unless a torrent of projectiles on any Grimm they detected that could tear most to pieces easily. And alert the occupants either way, since gunfire was… Well, loud enough that only those lacking ears could possibly miss their report.

The floors of the building themselves were a simple mixture of bedrooms, two kitchen suites to each floor, and four bathroom suites to each floor. Except the eastern half of the bottom floor, which was a large workshop for maintaining equipment and a living area for socializing mixed into one odd conglomerative room with work tables on one wall and a hearth in the other, seats and tables scattered through the room haphazardly right along with tool chests, lockers, and industrial items of the same kind. The top two floors were carpeted, but due to the nature of the bottom - with it mechanical maintenance especially - the floor was left hard, dark oak. 

Around the building was a concrete wall topped with thick, barbed wire to protect it from whatever might come through the overgrown, ruined settlement that the waystation had been built in. Little more than a village, but ruined nonetheless with grass breaking through the old paving and the buildings little more than piles of rubble now. Overhead, the sun had begun to descend as they’d arrived and now, after they’d unloaded the Dust and food supplies and put them where they went in the station, the day had grown long later and cast the rocks in a red light that made them appear as though smoldering. Burning ruins scattered around the building, as no doubt they had looked when the settlement itself had fallen. As though the entirety had been consumed by a wildfire, leaving behind molten stone and metal and naught else.

Though perhaps that was merely his imagination running wild, as it was wont to do, over a scene of stark and tragic beauty. He tried to imagine the way it had been designed before - the single broad road crossing North to South and its twin going East to West that he could still see, a store here, a housing complex across from where he stood now - but lacked any real details for what would make a modern city. It was inevitably dragged into designs of his own time. Brickwork roads where even now he saw the paving of modernity, and stonework buildings where he knew brick and concrete would have been used.

In the end, he supposed, it was impossible to even imagine the world he found himself in… All he could do was gaze and appreciate it, and so he did.

“They were demolished on purpose, after the place got mostly burnt up.” Qrow said when he saw the man gazing out on the rubble around them, shield leaning against his arm and sword held across his broad and armored shoulders. “Less for bandits, Grimm, whatever the hell, less for ‘em to hide behind in an attack. And no one wants the buildings to be hiding spots for homeless people or whatever.”

“Sensible.” The rubble would be harder to traverse, with pitfalls and holes under the rubble as well as sharp rocks and rusted metal to cut themselves to ribbons and impale themselves on. It would make a dangerous assault, his trained eyes told him that well enough. “I trust we will venture out to face our foes come morning?”

“Yeah.” The man nodded, joining him at the end of the ceiling, leaning his elbows on the weathered looking barrier. “Crack of dawn we head out scoutin’ the area together. Kill any Grimm we see, fast as we can, before we get overrun. Once a real fight kicks off, we shouldn’t need to move much, though.”

“The sounds of battle will ring and call them.” The Huntsman nodded and Deacon sighed, knowing too well how that would go. Swarms of dumb creatures practically throwing themselves on the keen, singing edge of his blade. “Like a dinner bell in a house of the starving, I should wager. Judging from what I have been told and experienced with similar seeming creatures in my own past. I am versed in dealing with such.”

And the aftermath as well, the tired arm was the worst part of it on most occasions.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to do a circuit ‘round the place.” Qrow stretched his arms over his head, rolling his neck until Deacon heard the muted popping of the joints. “Wanted to test somethin’ first, though. You said you could sense life right?”

“Indeed.”

“How’s that work?” The man’s narrow eyes didn’t tell him anything when he looked, through the steel of his visor. “Not pryin’, just need to know for combat reasons. If you can keep an eye out, feel the Grimm comin’...”

“I sense the Souls, as my people called them. The... The life force of the being in question. Every being which breathes, no matter its conception, has a life force within it. Be it man, monster, or even beings of stone or steel animated through whatever method.” He answered, age old monastic teachings melding with his own later learnings smoothly. “It it moves, and it fights, it has within it some manner of life force. And I can sense it, vaguely, as a product of training. Were I to focus, I could even gauge its strength, vitality and energy it emits ahead of attacks.”

“Then do me a favor, and hit me.” Surprised, the armored titan turned bodily to look down at him, shield thudding against the roof as he moved it. The smaller man rolled his eyes and sighed, “Not hard, just enough to take some Aura up. See if you can feel it.”

“I can.” He said sharply, sharper than he meant to if he were honest. He’d been surprised at the suggestion, and moved on quickly before he could get caught up in it. “I noted it in class already. I can feel the force of Aura moving when people are stricken or use Semblances, flowing around their limbs and…”

He turned as something tickled his mind, his sense of space around him, looking out at the forest. Like a spark backdropped against a night of darkest pitch, a glowing presence only discernible for the briefest moment and then gone entirely. A single ember amid a sea of blackest night, lost in the distant trees, and swallowed almost faster than it had come into being. 

“What’s up?”

“I sensed something… Alive, distinctly, and very suddenly not. But I only sensed one presence, flaring with its death, and not what ended it.” But what did the ending, he could not and did not know. Instead, he turned from the forest and looked down on the Huntsman beside him. “Considering we are here based on reports of a Grimm horde that the military can’t contain, I find myself asking… Where are they right now?”

“Something died?” He glanced out at the forest and then at the turrets, still but humming gently, and said quietly, “Hold up a minute.”

Jogging over to one, he hopped up and onto it, crawling along its top and looking at something that the Knight couldn’t see, the glow of his Scroll shining up where he sat on the stationary weapon. After a few seconds he swore, “Damn targeting system’s been tampered with… Range has been lowered to a dozen feet inside the treeline.”

“Qrow…”

“I’m resetting the range settings, gimme a few minutes-”

“Qrow!” He could sense the presences, a hundred life signs just entering the edges of his range of sensation. “Something is coming, and I go to meet it. Even one of those defences, you say, has the power of a thousand men. So bring them online, and come to help.”

The Huntsman looked at him solemnly and he met his eyes, seeing the sort of resignation there. Like the man had found something he did not wholly like, and accepted it as one might accept a painful event or happening. What that was, he had no time to ask, instead bringing a boot up to rest on the armored barrier in front of him and leaping off of it hard enough he heard the metallic shriek of metal shearing through stone under his force. The jump threw him far, clearing the top of the wall and slamming down and into the ground hard enough that the momentum brought him to his knees and threw loos stone and rock out around him. 

Rising, he lumbered forward and brought his shield to his side, held several inches out before him and off to the side readily. Ready for the charge, a thousand claws to rake across his armor, but… Surprised when nothing broke through the forest line. Coming to a stop on the far side of the old, broken road, his eyes roved the forest’s edge curiously for several seconds. 

That surprise doubled when, instead of black creatures of darkness, a man stepped from the trees. Sunkissed skin, hard eyes, and a jaw of granite wearing a short brown beard. His long, green coat trailed behind him as he walked, arms at his sides and palms turned towards him in a gesture of peace. He considered turning back to Qrow, or simply attacking the man, but the man had approached in peace and honor dictated he return in kind. 

So he slammed his shield into the pavement meaningfully, returning his sword to its resting place across his shoulders where it could cut down inside a second with little hesitation. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Some Guy in an Ambulance :

First off, are you okay tho? XD

A large part of this is interpretation. While knights and samurai might, to us now, seem backwards and cruel they acted in their sense of honor and chivalry. Not all of them, but many. For instance, a group of Ronin murdering a swathe of guards to kill a man for insulting their now-deceased Daimyo is, to us, barbaric and vile. To a Samurai, though, it was honorable. 

Take that understanding of honor, and tweak it so that people have centuries to spend thinking on it. Then you get down to where I was, and just personal preference. 

As to his down time, that was me worldbuilding and character building. I had a lot to work on, establish, build and create. His adaptability, though, comes down to another interpretation. The Chosen has to adapt to a lot of information, fights and changes in his journey to survive and stay sane.

So I made him highly adaptable. 

Hope you continue enjoying regardless. 

Jubilee Marie :

Good news~!

Turkish DS Fan :

The Miracles are, to me, interpretation of their function. We know, for instance, that later Miracles and new ones are made through DS Two and Three as stories tweak and twist over time, and old stories are added together or have pieces stuck in for whatever reason that alters their effects.

I think it’s the message in the story and the belief in it that fuels the power, to varying degrees of potency. Using Siegmeyer is a weaker version of that hybrid then, with stronger versions created from greater stories or more detailed renditions and retellings. In essence, the divine element is itself not used. Rather the belief in the stories is, to me, seemingly what fuels the power therein.


	10. Chapter 10

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“I warn you for honor’s sake, there is a vast number of Grimm reported to be in the area. You appear unarmed and unarmored, and so I do not know that you are able to combat them.” The man’s brow rose and he hummed, a sound like gravel under his boots. Crunching and rolling harshly. His arms, crossed by numerous scars and made of corded muscle, crossed over his bare and equally molded chest, and the Undead hummed curiously. “I rush to add that I mean no insult when I say that.”

“I appreciate it.” The barrel of a man said, huge by any standards but the Undead’s own with his eyes almost level to the ancient man’s chin. “Grimm aren’t a problem for my associates and I.”

“I suppose that only makes sense.” He’d sensed a Grimm dying, after all, though why the rest didn’t attack he couldn’t claim to know. Concentrating now, he could feel a score of the creatures in the woods, but… Nowhere near enough that the military shouldn’t have been able to deal with them. “It appears that the Grimm are not so numerous as we had come to suspect… Is that your doing?”

“My associate’s more than mine, but yes.” Suddenly, the man offered a hand to shake and he grunted, like he was forcing the name around rock and stone lodged in his throat, “Hazel Rainart, wandering Huntsman.”

“Deacon Knight,” he answered, letting his shield rest against his shoulder and taking the man’s hand with his, “Instructor in the art of sword and shield at Beacon Academy. And sole remaining warrior-priest of the Sunlight Covenant. An honor to meet you. A friendlier sight than the maws and claws of Grimm, to be certain.”

“Maybe.” The man grabbed his arm around the wrist and held it there, Human eyes peering up into the Undead’s visor searchingly. “You aren’t who we thought would be coming.”

“I’ve a habit of being unexpected, ‘tis true.” He nodded, pulling his arm free and watching the man opposite fold his arms again. Sighing, the Undead warrior looked around and observed, “You didn’t say you were killing the Grimm, I note. And to expect someone in specific to come out here implies a plan of sorts, likely relating to the reports we have received.”

“I don’t know you. That means you don’t have to get involved with this.” Hazel grunted, answer enough to what the Undead had wondered about. Somehow they’d either controlled the Grimm to cause them to throng here, or planted the lie in a way that would get back to Ozpin and thus send forth the man’s agents. “We’re here for Branwen, not you. You don’t need to die today.”

“Still your heart and your concerns, for I shall not die here. I know that for fact.” He’d died more than enough to gauge when he would, facing down something. Adjusting his grip on his sword meaningfully, he added, “As to your suggestion that I withdraw and abandon my comrade to whatever you have planned going forward… No. I shall not forsake him.”

“Hm.” His brown eyes narrowed, a leg sliding back readily, and the man asked, “Are you certain? You don’t have to die for him.”

“And I shan’t. I’ve men and monster both faced, and of them, few could stand against my onslaught. Perhaps you will be one who manages to draw my blood, but my life will ever remain mine.” The Undead stated evenly, watching the tree line curiously and cautiously for attack. However they kept the Grimm at bay, whatever they were doing to accomplish it, he didn’t know when they’d stop. “You approached in peace and, if you wish it, I am honor bound to allow you to depart in it as well.”

“Honor bound?”

“I am a Knight, enthralled to the Covenant of the Sunlight Warriors, good sir.” He answered simply, shrugging his armored shoulders at the obviousness of the conclusions to reach from that title alone. “Thus I am bound by oaths, creed and honor. You came in peace to offer peace to me, even if such was not to be. And so you may go in peace, if you wish it. You came to fight a single man, and face two instead on your own.”

“I’m not going to walk away, and I’m not alone.” As if on cue, and possibly so given the man’s phrasing, loud shots cracked out behind him rapidly. Gunfire, he knew from his lessons as many students used it in their spars. Distantly, he saw a wiry man wielding a golden gun evading Qrow’s sword while Hazel spoke. “Your fight is with me. I’m not attacking you with your back turned.”

“A duel it is, then?” The man opposite him rumbled and Deacon took that for the officiality he needed, nodding his head. “Very well then. A duel between us it is.”

When he turned back, hazel had taken several steps away and slid into a relaxed but ready stance, arms raised at his sides and legs spread apart just enough to anchor himself. Sighing solemnly and sending a silent prayer for his comrade’s safety, the Undead turned to his own opponent. An unarmed fighter, then, and one unperturbed by the sight of his heavy armor and great armaments. Cockiness, possibly, but more likely confidence. The difference seemed slight to the unlearned, but the way the man held himself calmly in the face of a larger and better armed foe spoke of skill and experience behind the stance and attitude rather than simple bravado.

And so he would treat him as the threat he likely posed.

Slamming his shield into the dirt, he leaned down to let it stand on its own weight as a wall against whatever came, his blade held off to the side with the full length on shimmering display, silver etchings glowing as though in reaction to the fight ahead and his own prayers of battle. Behind the strange man, Hazel, Deacon could make out for the briefest moment a shifting all across the treeline. Grimm charged, a century and a half of lupine, swine and ursine monsters loping towards them in a reckless lust for carnage and little else.

But recklessness was a cruel master.

The guns had been hacked to lower their ranger, and thus not alert them to the Grimm, but they still functioned. And the tinny popping sound of the large turrets unleashing their ammunition, canisters of ball bearings that would shred Grimm and earth both, sounded behind him as though to confirm that very lesson. Then ahead of him within a few seconds, the payload slammed into the ground and Grimm with an almost thunderous applause of metal striking flesh, earth and stone. Then the main guns opened up, whirring loudly like a thousand large and mad cats in fury, churning soil beyond the green-garbed man and hurling dirt, stone, and Grimm pieces into the sky in long lines while more canisters of shrapnel bellowed forward. 

A safehouse for Hunters indeed, he pitied the creatures which tried to take it. For they fared poorly here, with a throng beyond normal counting falling to the last to raking shrapnel and carving lines of precision, explosive fire from the main guns. But still they pushed on, gaining inches towards their target even as they were cut down. Admirable actions coming from men, but pitiable and little else in poor, unarmored beasts thronging to the slaughter and doing little but costing money and ammunition. 

But the pitiable Grimm desperately vying to reach him weren’t his concern. No, the man in green alone held his attention, the duo watching each other carefully and closely. Several seconds of silence in the midst of the carnage of soil and monster, both roaring their own cries, as the warriors stood each other down.

Unlike Hazel, Deacon’s patience was eternal, owing to the never-ending life of one and the more temporal existence of the other. Standing there with his shield held at the ready like a silent, steel sentinel. 

The smaller man took the first steps, closing with the steady titan. He stepped into swinging range and, probingly, Deacon lifted the sword slightly, angling the bottom edge in just a hair. Sharp brown eyes, like razors for how honed they were, flicked to the slight movement as though he’d roared and telegraphed a swing as wide as the Lord of Sunlight could throw a bolt of divine lighting. Confidence borne of experience and expertise, then, rather than bravado and pride.

“Once more I say, you did not come for this fight.” Hazel’s eyes returned to his visor, the man humming that gravelly hum again. “Leave, and do not return. I will not follow you.”

“Can’t.” He grunted lowly that the din of the cannons nearly drowned it out, jerking his head behind the man at the battle happening between Qrow and his opponent. “My ally is there, and my… Boss won’t like it if I tuck tail and leave him behind.”

“Very well. Then you shall fall to me, Hazel Rainart.” The Undead stepped forward, sweeping the massive blade from right to left in a fast but wide arc to force the man back, towards the Grimm and the fire raining down on them.

Deft beyond what his size implied, the man ducked under the swing and stepped in, pivoting on his heel to threw a punch that was felt even through plate and chain, the force of the blow like a hammer to his diaphragm even past his defenses. Deacon ground his teeth together and, as ever, resisted falling his knees from either the shock of the blow or surprise at the force of it and slammed his pommel down. But the man once more evaded, stepping to the Undead’s left and catching the rim of his great shield as it rammed forwards into his chest and staggered him back. Before the smaller man had time to recover, he lunged forward and raised his sword high, slamming his chest into the man’s chest hard enough to knock him from his feet and throw him to the ground so that the knight could bring his great blade down on his chest and finish this in one fell swoop.

The blade glance off crossed arms, Aura sparking brightly as the sword sunk into soft soil instead of muscle and flesh, and the man rolled to the side to escape the mighty boot that threatened to cave in his chest. Carving through the soil as it went, he cut the sword to the side toward Hazel before he could rise, biting into the man’s chest, but once again drawing bright sparks of Aura instead of blood as the man staggered away, scrambling for a couple feet of space between himself and the massive, armored warrior that had struck him. He took a short step towards the man and froze, Hazel’s hand vanishing into his vest and staying there, the Undead knowing better than to dive in against an opponent reaching for something when he couldn’t know what it was. To their side, the massive cannon’s fire began to slow as the Grimm died to the last, until all that was left was the sound of falling rock and a dull roar echoing in his ears.

Quick as lightning, the man yanked the glowing yellow crystal from its resting place inside the vest and, to the Undead’s surprise, drove it down into the crook of his elbow. Roaring as he did, electricity sparked all along his arms and set his largest veins glowing through the skin, like spiderwebs of yellow light travelling under the dark skin. Glaring at him and suddenly seemingly infused with vitality, Hazel leapt towards him. High, through the air and with a fist cocked back ready to strike, he brought his shield up over his shield-side shoulder to catch what he thought would be a small blow.

Instead he grunted as what felt like ten times the force a man his size should be able to deliver slammed down into the metal shield, driving it against his shoulder hard enough he had to sweep a leg back and plant it to stay standing. The man rolled off the shield and landed on his feet, surging up and slamming his shoulder against the rim of the shield inside his guard like a beast possessed by some manner of devilry. Then he dove forward, slamming the other into his chest, too close for him to swing his great sword properly or wedge his shield between them and thus forcing him to abandon the tower shield. 

Hand free, he grabbed the man by his coat and tore him away, the cloth tearing as he spun and hurled Hazel towards the building. He landed in a roll, coming up with another crystal in his hand, and Deacon scowled behind his helmet. Gripping the greatsword in two hands, more for speed than for any strength given that putting more weight into his strikes would off balance him, he considered his opponent anew as he drove a second crystal into his flesh and roared. 

Strength of a mad berserker, recklessly attacking without care for himself judging from the bruises that his strikes had produced even through the man’s Aura and the blood flowing around the crystals. But still agile enough to duck and dodge past his strikes, and smart enough to strategize and plan judging from how he’d dove into his swinging range to nullify his fighting power. And now Deacon had been forced to abandon his shield, which lay beside him barely a foot away but which might as well have been a continent away for all he could likely attempt to get it. 

When hazel, charged once more by whatever those crystals were, leapt at him with a roar his decision was made. Swinging wide, he began to speak, “In the lands of Oolacile, it has often been said.” The man ducked under the strike, hammering a blow up into the Undead’s side harm enough to spark Hazel’s own Aura and break something in his chest. 

Snapping his boot up, he kicked the man back and brought the leg down heavily, to emphasise the next point and send further power into the ground, “That in the forest, should you tread. Your steps to the last should honor those dead. Lost to darkness, along with their head.” Confused, Hazel froze, and Deacon raised his sword high, “So take these steps, as do the dead. In the Tranquil Walk of Peace!”

The power of the words rang true, light ringing around the man and dragging him to his knees in his surprise as the hex-like Miracle took hold. Seizing the moment, he leapt, bringing his sword down while the man, past gritted teeth, brought his arms up to block the blow. A shower of Aura sounded for it, the man collapsing under the weight of the blow and flickering with yellow light.

His Aura shattering, he knew. Looking down on the man, he said as much, “Yield. Your Aura is gone, and the Walk of Peace will drain you until it expires. When I shall simply cast it again, before I cut you down. If you do, then you may leave, for I have to contend with whomever assaults my ally.”

“Why give me the chance?” He asked lowly, looking for all the world like he was surprised to even hear the demand. “I’ll leave, but you know I’ll come back.”

“You spoke to me in honorable peace, to spare me in a fight I did not know would come. Regardless of the end of that,” he shifted the sword meaningfully to show what he meant, and Hazel hummed understandingly, “I appreciate the kindness. And honor tells me to return it, this once alone. Face me again at your own peril, but if you leave and take your ally with you, then I will allow you your life.”

For a moment he seemed like he’d fight, but then, like he’d heard something in his ear, he looked to the side and let himself fall to the ground, “I’m done, but I can’t promise he’ll leave. I have no control of him.”

“Go.” He stepped back, though he held the sword out warningly as the man staggered upright just in case he attacked. But the large man just nodded, grimaced, and turned to leave. Once he had gone far enough, the Undead turned and bellowed, “My opponent routs, Qrow! How goes your fight?”

A moment or two passed, and he considered going to join his companion, before he heard the tired sounding man call back, “Ran off a second ago, when that bastard you were fighting did. Guess he didn’t fancy bein’ on the receiving end of a three way, eh?”

“Your eloquence is a credit to you and your entire generation, most assuredly. A poet of the generations, certainly.” He grumbled, turning to retrieve his shield and dusting it off as he did. “I am coming to join you, Branwen! Are you well?”

“I ain’t dead so doin’ ‘bout as good as I think I could hope to.”

Truly eloquent, a poet that would be mourned after his death.

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“So,” the smaller man said when they had gone inside, and he’d collapsed onto a couch to nurse his flask, “I guess pointing out this was one big fuckin’ trap would just be stating the obvious, yeah?”

“Quite.” He agreed, removing his helmet and idly checking it for damage as he spoke, “The man I fought, Hazel. He said as much to me in direct, prior to our battle. A trap laid for you, in fact, Qrow. They had little idea you would have assistance, and I do believe that altered their plans as a result. Hence their flight, once I bested my opponent.”

“Yeah, care to… Explain why you let Hazel frigging Rainart just… Leave?” His voice rose at the end and, curious, the Undead raised his brow in question. Frustrated, Qrow growled and took a long draught of his flask before, in a lower voice but still full of irritation, explaining. “That bastard is one of the big bads, works for some really evil sons of bitches, and you had him. Why would you just… Let him walk like that?”

“He yielded, and offered me the kindness of standing down from a fight I hadn’t come knowing I would face.” Qrow’s brows shot up and Deacon grimaced, rushing to add, “Not that I would accept, obviously enough considering I fought him and drove him off. But he yielded to me, surrendered I suppose would be your word, and I owed him a kindness.” 

“I’m sorry, he yielded to you?” Qrow scoffed, earning a glare from the venerable giant.

“A duel is not without civility, Qrow Branwen. Civility and honor.”

“A duel?” Another scoff, and the giant’s hands curled into fists at the tone. Anger was a familiar mistress, but one he had long since learned to resist, and so he schooled himself into calm while the man spoke. “A kindness? Duels, honor, civility to Hazel fucking Rainart?! That bastard has killed at least a dozen of my friends, but hey, he was nice to you so he gets to fuckin’ walk.”

Ranted was, perhaps, a better word.

“I am an Undead, and honorbound as well.” He answered simply, rising from the seat and returning his helmet to his head. “I shall go outside, and patrol the trees. Lest we be struck in the night by sabotage and Grimm once again, as we know they are wont to use both of these as weapons.”

“What if a Beowolf whines when you stab it, hm?” Qrow mocked, leaning forward where he sat, hands on his knees to brace himself. “Gonna let it walk off and kill someone innocent too? Honestly, I always wondered why we ditched the whole ‘knighthood’ schtick, and I see why now. You just got a lot of people killed for some namb pamby bullshit about ‘honor’ and ‘civility’ that you oughta blow out your ass.”

“You are tired, sore from battle, and at least mildly inebriated.” He dismissed simply and as politely as he could manage, turning to look down on the man. “But I urge you not to insult me, Qrow. My oaths keep me Human and stave off the madness of my Curse. Without that which you so deride, I would have become but a frittering away into madness and lunacy, rambling and ravaging in equal measure. You ought respect them.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t exactly know much ‘bout this ‘curse’ of yours.” He waved his hand at the Undead knight, other hand raising the flask towards his lips. “Go on, tell me why I should give a flying Brothers damn about it.”

“Very well.” He sighed, taking a seat and removing his helmet once more, taking a deep breath before speaking. “An Undead’s mental state is fragile, and degeneration permanent almost without exception. Undead also will, invariably and without fail, rise again once. You understand this?”

“I get the idea, yeah.”

“And I trust you understand how powerful I am.” He raised a hand, pointing a finger at himself and meeting the Huntsman’s eyes with grim surety. “Do you believe that you could best me in combat, one on one with nothing held back?”

“I…” He saw the pride flare in the man’s eyes, saw his shoulders stiffen at the question, and sympathised. Pride was yet another cruel maestro to dance to, and matching its beats and thrums lead only to death if one could not step beyond them. 

Luckily, Qrow seemed to, and he answered, “No. Those ‘Miracles’ you do, your… Damn durability, and that armor… I can’t match ‘em. If we fought, head on and no holding back, you’d tear me to pieces.”

“Indeed.” He nodded, steepling his fingers and sighing, nearly breathing the words in the same motion, “And I am, by far, not the strongest of my kind.”

“What?” Qrow blinked, clearly shocked, and he understood why even before the man stammered and spoke. “But you killed… Friggin’ gods, and demons, and you’re alive when they aren’t. How can you even possibly not be the strongest?”

“Undead maintain their sanities, not through force of arms, but through tenacity, willpower, and discipline as well as the ability to adapt to and overcome what they come to face. A man without the Curse may waver in the face of a foe or tragedy, but to an Undead… Such is madness, literally, incarnate. We lose our minds, and ourselves, and become wandering monstrosities hoarding Souls and thirsting for power.” Deacon paused then, to let him absorb the words for several long seconds, before adding, “Imagine a thousand and one mes, all mad and frothing and slaughtering any near them for power. What would that do to Vale?”

He knew the man’s answer when his mouth clicked closed and his eyes hardened, no doubt with visions of fire and blood. He let him contemplate it and stood once more, satisfied, and turned towards the door. 

“My oaths, faith and honor keep me sane.” He added in finality, resting his sword across his broad shoulders and reaching up to touch the spot over where his medallion rested. “Should I abandon them, I will become a mad beast. And none will be able to stop my remnants from tearing this world asunder before I can be sealed away. If I can be sealed away at all, of course.”

Without another word, he strode through the door to walk and relax.

Qrow would be doing very little relaxing that night, he knew.

Morning came with little conflict aside from the occasional Grimm, small, weak and easily cut down by his great blade. It was meditative, if not in the same way as making a circle would be, but still more than enough to allow him to relax and decompress. And think as well, on what had happened the night previous, as little as he knew he could still theorize on what it all meant.

The Grimm had attacked in support of Hazel, or at the very least stood down while the man approached him to speak and then been let off the proverbial leash. Which meant the Grimm could be controlled, somehow and by something. But what could do it and how, he didn’t know, and was willing to bet that it wasn’t something available to many given the Kingdoms’ eternal war with the creatures. 

They wouldn’t fight the Grimm if they could control them and nullify their threat, obviously. 

The question of the report that had called them out there was also on his mind, of course. But he didn’t know enough about the militaries of this world to guess at how such an infiltration could occur, or even if one would be needed. A simple report to the proper person in Astora, in his age, was said to be able to influence a King’s decision on any matter. It only took knowing who that person was. 

He’d need to voice these thoughts, confused and full of empty conjecture as they were, to Ozpin when they returned. But for now, as the sun rose, he was content to enjoy the warmth until Qrow woke and came to him. 

“Hey.” The man said when he finally arrived, meeting Deacon in the middle of the ruined field outside where he stood, enjoying the warmth and the blue morning sky. “Look, about last night, I… I’m sorry, for what I said. Hazel just…”

“He has taken much from you.” Deacon said knowingly, not once averting his eyes from the blue of the sky. “A man once took much from me as well. Slew a dear firekeeper I enjoyed the company of, and ripped her soul away... And though it pained me, he had his reasons and his honor. I forgive your frustrations and your words both, Qrow.”

“Yeah…” The Undead felt something tap against his armored breast and looked down, the Huntsman holding out his silver flask. “Drink on it? We’re friends now, I guess, and friends share drinks.”

“I dislike alcohol, but… If it would please you and mend our relationship.” He took the flash, and a small sip from it, hacking at the acrid taste and burn in his throat while Qrow laughed good naturedly. “I did say, did I not, that I disdain alcohol?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.” The smaller man, hunched over but smirking oddly regardless, stepped past him and back towards the building. Deacon followed, and Qrow added, “Gotta get to Oz with a report about this shit.”

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Archcalamity :

Yes it would, theoretically, if he thought of it and could bend his mind to working with it. Deacon makes limited use of that, using Faith and incantation to power Pyromancies up because that’s how his mind runs. On Faith, belief, and honor. 

Turkish DS Fan :

I won’t answer much of that, sorry, spoiler stuff. However, Gwynevere will not be making a reappearance, nor will Ash Lake. DS 2 2 happened, but not 3 as Humanity found a way, with the Brother’s help, to fix the problem of Humanity. Side effects include Faunus, Grimm and Aura to name a few items, but I won’t get into details here. For brevity and for spoilers both. 

Not every question will be answered - per DS fashion - but some will find answers eventually, or answers that can be drawn. I won’t go into more, and hope you forgive that.

Also, as shown here, other Miracles will make an appearance on occasion. More ‘holy’ or sacred ones, though, won’t be used very often. For obvious reasons, given our protag’s origins and beliefs. 

Kaioo :

Give it time. I sympathise, but authorial foreknowledge. XD

Alex Sakurai :

He’s not acclimatized perfectly, but yes. He is very adaptable, a trait I infer from his ability to learn and fight such a wide variety of enemies. From Humans, to Hollows, to Demons and Dragons all. 

Glad you’re enjoying! 

Wandering Pie :

I made a list out on one of the other chapters, but in brief, he wears the Steel set and carries the shield from the same set. 

Yesboss 21 :

Same way that the Atlesian droids know between Grimm and non-Grimm. Answer? I don’t know, I just… Made the turrets and asserted the same interface. Sorry, a failing on my part.


	11. Chapter 11

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If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our discord. Server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, and remember to post a Review/Comment to let me know what you liked and didn’t. 

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Betas for this story so far :

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“The men staged it all, sending reports through military channels to manipulate your actions and held command of Grimm besides.” Deacon summarised shortly, standing in Ozpin’s office upon his return to the Academy barely a day prior. “Were I not to have gone, then their subterfuge would have taken the breath from young Qrow’s body. Such things cannot be abided, and the latter should, from my understanding and what you have said, be impossible outright.”

“That sounded close to an accusation.” The Headmaster said coyly, never turning his gaze from the late night sky and the stars glimmering in it, jewels hanging above the Kingdom of Vale only adding to the splendor of the city itself. “What are you insinuating, Deacon?”

“None, beyond that you ought find the source of this manipulation and pluck it from the ranks of your armies as a weed from a garden bed.” The Undead bowed his head reverently in apology for the offence he had mostly unintentionally caused, adding, “Loose lips sink ships and poor discipline breaks an army’s ranks, but poorly monitored and easily manipulated lines of report and order destroy kingdoms, Ozpin.”

“True enough, I’ve heard as much in different ways in my rather long time.” Something about the phrasing erked at the Undead, but his days had made him suspicious by nature and so he dismissed the mild curiosity and suspicion. “Tell me, what do you think I should do about this particular matter?”

“Whatever you see best, so long as you do something.” He’d known many men who were far too patient, or perhaps another word would better describe it but he knew it not in the moment, for their own good. “Patience is a virtue, but over-patience is negligence and naught else, Headmaster Ozpin.”

“Rest assured, Deacon, I have already let James know about the problem. He is conducting a series of inquiries into the matter, to as, you so eloquently put it, find and pluck the weed.” The silver-haired man looked, and sounded as well, oddly amused when he turned to look at him for a moment before once more gazing out at the night sky. “I am simply waiting for the plans I have laid to come to fruition.”

“Then my concerns are allayed, for now at the least.” The knight nodded, taking a breath and exhaling in what might have been a sigh. Relief seldom came to his concerns, in his long existence, and so when it did come so easily he was more than grateful. “I am glad, however, that I was there to aid Qrow against those two and their foul plot. I fear what would have come were he to have been there alone.”

“Better not to dwell on it.” Ozpin cut in quickly, waving a hand as though to fan the issue away entirely. “You were there, and so whatever could or would have come has been averted. You have my gratitude for that, but we mustn't dwell on what could have been when what is is so much more important.”

“You preach to the converted, Ozpin.” He joked, as best he could and well enough judging from the smaller man’s grunt and quiet laugh at the jest. “Will that be all, then? I have said what I wished to say, and so if you have done so as well, then I would seek meditation. Or perhaps an evening spent reading, if the fancy should take me.”

“You may go, I have nothing else to ask you about.” Ozpin answered simply after a few seconds of thought. “If you complete another of your writings, let me know, would you? I am quite interested in what your history can tell us.”

“As you like, Headmaster. I shall consider your words.” Without another word, the Undead turned and began to make his way to his room. Perhaps working on his writing would be a better way to spend the night…

“One last thing before you go, Deacon.” He hesitated at the elevator, the door chiming musically as it slid open, and hummed his curiosity at Ozpin. “I do apologize for the subterfuge, Qrow is… A paranoid man, and asked it of me as a favor. I hope you’ll forgive he and I both for it.”

“I have done so already. Such is understandable, given your duties and my claims.” A truer statement he hadn’t said in some time… “I forgive both formally, now. And wish you a fond enough goodnight, Headmaster.”

“I wish the same to you, Deacon.” Nodding, the Headmaster returned his gaze to the night sky and Deacon stepped into the elevator to head home. A comforting thought to be able to have, he felt deep in his heart. 

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Ozpin watched the elevator close and waited several long, quiet seconds before moving to his desk, leaning his cane against the side of the desk. Pulling a thermos out along with it, he drew his Scroll from a drawer and flicked through the menus to call the good general currently patrolling around Vale with the Atlesian Frontier forces. 

“So it’s settled, then?” James asked when he called him, voice echoing of slight static from the distance between then Tower of Beacon and the Atlesian ship circling around the other end of the Kingdom of Vale. “Qrow trusts him fully now, and we know at least that he will fight Salem’s servants. Even if he let the one he fought walk afterwards.”

“Qrow asked him about it and I relayed that to you.” Even if he disagreed with the letting Hazel Rainart simply walk away, he much preferred that to a mad Undead ravaging his Academy. Even without the full scope of Deacon’s abilities, he was certain that facing him would mean displaying his own powers, and dealing with the fallout of that held no advantages. “As unfortunate as it is, I believe that allowing him his mild inconveniences in exchange for his sheer power is the better option than not having it.”

“Letting Rainart walk requires beating him, which has proven difficult.” Ironwood said by way of agreement. “For what it is worth, I personally think that the evidence is enough to vet him.”

“As you have said.”

“It bears repeating, Ozpin, given your insistence on testing him further.” The slight fire there surprised Ozpin, enough that a brow rose in question at it. But he didn’t mention it, instead letting the general continue. “So I’ll ask again. It’s settled then? In all our cases, I mean.”

“Yes.” He answered simply, smiling politely in spite of the fact the call was audio-only due to the range and his being deployed. “I am quite settled, and will trust him more readily in the future. Not with the whole truth, not yet at least, but… I can foresee doing so soon enough, and look forward to having an ally to stay beyond a single lifetime.”

“I can see the appeal there.” Ironwood admitted, sounding grimly satisfied in an odd way as he did. Another thing Ozpin didn’t feel a need to drag out of his old friend, once again “I’m going to get off the line, Ozpin. We’re working on tracking Rainart and Watts, and my men need me to lead for that. I know them better than the Frontier force commander, after all.”

“Indeed. And good hunting to you.” Ozpin flicked the Scroll shut before he could answer, reclining his head and letting it rest on the back of his chair tiredly. “Truly, I am exhausted… I am glad this is over though, and we can move on.”

Not that all his concerns were addressed, of course, he wouldn’t truly relax until Salem’s agents were neutralized once more. But he could at least rest easy enough knowing he’d done all he could personally do, and left the rest in capable hands. 

And Dust if rest didn’t sound wonderful just now, in his soft, warm bed…

But first, he opened his Scroll and sent a voice message to Glynda, “Please assign our compatriot his special task, come morning. The one we spoke of, previously. And do be sure to appeal to his sense of honor and protectiveness, though without revealing why he is to train them.”

That done, he closed the Scroll and stood to head to bed for the evening. 

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“You wish me to do what?” He asked come morning, answering a knock at his door to find Goodwitch standing crisply for him. 

“I need you to train a partner-pair whose scores are dropping well below the expected or required marks, both of whom are armed closer to your style than anyone else presently on staff.” He nodded, standing mute in his doorway and clearly waiting for her to explain further, and she rolled her eyes. “It’s a common duty, Deacon. These sorts of remedials are necessary, or we simply have to toss them to the wolves, proverbial and literal, and hope they don’t break.”

“Hm.” Such wasn’t his complaint, really, but rather it was the abruptness of his being asked to do this. The timing felt weird to him, that paranoid part of him feeding the idea until it threatened to become a beast itself… But regardless of whatever suspicions his mind conjured out of mist, he couldn’t allow his wards to fall for their unpreparedness, such would be cruel in the highest order… “Very well. But I shall need you to-”

“Take some of your combat lessons off your hands for you to train the remedial pair?” She guessed, the man humming in surprise for a moment before nodding. Smirking ockily, likely at her knowing what he was going to say before he spoke, she nodded crisply. “I was certain that would be your condition, and that you would agree to the task.”

“Am I truly so obvious in my-”

“Which is why I prepared lesson plans for today ahead of time, and arranged for the remedial partners to meet you at your… Site.” Of course she had, the woman was efficient and ruthless as always and, seeing her small and satisfied smirk, he felt certain she was being so on purpose to some end he didn’t know. “They should be there already, matter of fact. Waiting on you.”

“You are an impressively uncompromising woman, Miss Goodwitch.” But he heard the undercurrent of frustration in her voice… This seemed to ever more show itself as a snap decision, and she had been more unprepared than she showed. 

“Thank you. I work very hard at it.” She smiled teasingly and he rolled his eyes. “And you are to call me Glynda when there are no students around. I have told you that at least three times, and I detest repeating myself.”

“Such was not a compliment…” She glared up at him and he held his hands up in mock defeat, sighing and shaking his great head. Whatever his suspicions painted, she was a kind woman and it was as likely that her sudden need of plans and schedules was because of the shortness of the hunt as it was anything else. More likely than anything untoward at the very least. “Be calm, I mean no offense. And I am unused to referring to people so familiarly, you must be patient with me to that end, Miss Good- Glynda.” 

“Patience is not a virtue I possess too much of.” She pointed out, sighing when the giant simply shrugged, unsure of what to say in answer. “As you say. Now hurry and prepare, you have a lesson to administer. And I can’t waste much more time chatting with you either, I have my own lessons to attend to as well, now.”

“I shall depart immediately then, to do my apparent duty.” He half turned and stopped, laying a hand on his door’s knob and turning back to her. “By the by, which pair is it that has gone remedial, as you put it?”

“Nikos-Arc, of Team Juniper.” His eyes narrowed in surprise at the first name and, predicting his question, Goodwitch summarised as quickly as she could. “Miss Nikos is a stellar combatant and academic, as expected of her given her reputation. Mister Arc, however, struggles in live combat scenarios. Though he excels in academics, he just… Falters on the battlefield.”

“And while wit is a strength, a wise man who can’t defend himself will die regardless of his knowledge. Blade and claw cares not for how much you may know about physics, among any other of the sciences.” A lesson among thousands he’d learned the hardest and harshest ways possible, typically repeatedly, as demonstrations cropped up and then fell as scythes to wheat around him. “I shall impart unto young Arc all that I can, Glynda. This I swear to you in the sun’s light.”

“A strong promise from a sun worshipper, I would bet. Very well, I must get going then, I have much to attend to this morning.” She acknowledged, giving him a respectful nod and turning to leave. He could, and if asked would, swear he heard her murmur some kind of swear and ‘Ozpin’ under her breath as she left.

So he was potentially involved… Then whatever was going on was certainly for the best, the man had thus far been nothing but honest with him. Even to the point of apologizing for allowing someone else to put him to a test for their own reasons. With that in his mind he pushed the paranoia away entirely and, finally, stepped into his chambers to prepare for the day. Besides which, he had duties to attend to and it would be dishonorable to himself and his wards if he didn’t devote all his attention to them. 

“Good morning, Professor.” The two armored academy students parroted crisply, shoulders stiff and clearly anxious at having been singled out. Along with guilt he saw, sketched across young Arc’s face tellingly. 

At least the boy wasn’t arrogant… And he was both wise enough to see what was happening, and honest enough with himself to admit to it. Admirable… And a good direction for the approach he would take.

“Arc.” The wiry boy stiffened and, anxious for him, Nikos glanced between the lightly armored boy and the massive and unarmored Undead. “Tell me why you two have been called aside and sent to me for training. “And,” he held up a hand towards the Mistralian when her mouth opened to protest, “let him speak. I desire to hear his answer.”

“I’m… Too weak to be here.” He said quietly, shoulders straight in spite of the deprecating words. Swallowing anxiously, he added, “And it’s dragging Pyrrha’s grades down now, too… And I don’t… She offered to train me, but I don’t deserve it.”

“Is that for you to judge?” He asked simply, resting a hand on the grip of his sword. When the blonde’s eyes narrowed in confusion, he explained, “If Miss Nikos wishes to train you, to help you as your partner, then she has clearly judged you worthy. Do you doubt her faculties and her ability to judge things on her own?”

“O-Of course not!” Jaune was quick to defend his partner, it seemed, cutting a hand across himself as though to strike down the very notion. “Pyrrha’s the smartest woman I know, I just…”

“Doubt is a warrior’s greatest weakness, young Mister Arc. Humility is its sister, and a virtue in moderation.” He spoke quietly, but the tenor of his voice and the silence of their surroundings carried the words to a greater volume than he intended. When the words didn’t seem to click properly, he shifted gears and tried a different approach. “Tell me, young Miss Nikos, do you think you or Mister Arc could best me in combat?”

“O-Of course not, professor.” She stammered, either in anxiety or surprise to have been asked such a sudden question he couldn’t tell. More confidently, she went on, “You’re a professional level Huntsman, Sir. I’m confident in my abilities, but fighting you would be tantamount to suicide. With or without my partner.”

“And yet, once upon a time long ago, I was smaller and frailer than you, Mister Arc.” The two younger fighters blinked in surprise and, genuinely amused, he chuckled. “Is it so impossible to believe? All are small and weak at once in their lives, and grow powerful later. You shall be no different, Mister Arc. But I see now that my tutelage is not needed here.”

“Miss Nikos, please put him through the training you wished to.” He smiled warmly at the young blonde, turning to head to his circles and kneel. “I shall monitor, and if needed, step in. Please do not damage my circles, they are important to me, and do not injure each other. I shall be meditating while you spar.”

“But… But I shouldn’t even be...” His hard eyes met Jaune’s and the young trainee swallowed, seemingly disturbed by something but unwilling as of now at least to say whatever it was, but then simply nodded and let out a sigh. “I understand, Professor Knight. I’ll do my best.”

“Such is all I require.” He nodded, removing his sword and laying it in front of his circle before kneeling in it to meditate and wait. Soon, the clearing was filled with grunts and clangs of metal striking metal and Aura, but to him the sounds of combat were no distraction. Such was, in fact, a comfort to him.

So long had he been surrounded by combat, the sound soothed him in a way he couldn’t place.

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SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT :

For Supporters, in the next coming weeks, I will be releasing the Prologue for my first original content book, Re:Programmed. I’ve spent the last year working on it, and can’t wait to hear what people have to say on it. And I wanted to release some evidence of that, to show everyone what we’re doing over here.

It will be Supporter exclusive, though, because without them it wouldn’t exist. 

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A short, and free - for you Supporters, I mention this, XD - chapter to decompress after the fight in the last chapter. Needed sometimes, and serves decently as a segue into the next arc of the story. I thought about including this in the next chapter, but then it would have been over long.

I hope you enjoyed the short little fluff chapter nonetheless. It’s also meant to hint at when this is, now, which is a bit before the Jaunedice arc. 

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	12. Chapter 12

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Grand Priestess, Luna Haile -

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Initiate, Gentleman Mad

Initiate, Lebenden_Toten

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“What, students, is the most important tool in your arsenal when in the field, combating foes, Grimm or otherwise, for long periods of time?” He asked, standing in the center of the arena floor, letting his voice carry naturally around the amphitheater that was the arena’s design. When none answered, either unsure or too anxious to speak up in front of so may, he frowned slightly in disappointment but moved on. They were young and he was rather intimidating, which combined with the natural fear of public ridicule… It was not something worth dwelling on. “Many would preach the virtue of a strong blade, or powerful Semblance, or clever tactics. Perhaps even proper armor, to shirk off all but the strongest of blows. A folly of an answer I myself once spoke, years that feel as lifetimes ago, when my own instructor asked me and my fellow trainees. A habit that, I am sure you have noted, I never truly shook off.”

The joke earned a few weak, nervous chuckles around the room, but little beyond that. Sighing at the failed attempt at levity, the Undead moved on before awkwardness could set in. Even if he was more disappointed in the failure of a joke than he cared to let on. “No, these are all virtues to hold to, things that ought be valued, but… They are not of prime concern. ‘A strong shield may block blow, and a strong blade may fell foe, but adept allies are the best weapons a warrior may ever know’. So teaches my Order of knights, and I have seen my fellows bring down creatures that you could not imagine in your wildest nightmares.”

“To this end, and with Miss Goodwitch’s permissions,” he waved a hand up at the observer seat to emphasise that, and the woman offered a small nod in support, as he went on, “your teams shall be temporarily shuffled. Partner pairs will be traded between teams and engage in four person spars, in the interests of breeding adaptability and a trust in comrades fighting together under banners of mutual defence of the innocent. For we are all allies in this eternal war against the Grimm.”

There was a bevy of hushed, unsure murmuring in response to that. Which he wholly ignored, instead turning to call up to Glynda, “Headmistress, if you would like to, would you please elect our first batch of combatants?”

“Nikos-Arc and Winchester-Thrush, you are the first pairs I’ve selected.” She answered primly as he made his exit to join her in observation. “Thrush and Nikos are both styled as fast fighters, and Winchester and Arc have the potential to be grand holding units to function with them. Bear this in mind as you spar, please, students.”

When he joined the woman, she shot him a small, oddly petulant glare, and the large warrior blinked in surprise. “What did I do this time?”

“Nothing untoward, I am merely… Frustrated at things I should not be frustrated at.” She sighed and turned to watch the fight, waiting until he took his place beside her to explain what she meant. “I handled this class on my own for almost five years, yet not once did I deviate from paired combat or standard team exercises. I never considered that, perhaps, diversifying their combat styles and knowledge of others by mixing the teams for spars could be viable.”

“A matter of traditional upbringing.” He shrugged simply, and the woman hummed curiously in response. “Traditionally among your people, teams are the apex of priority and training. So shuffling the teams would not, likely, be something considered. Whether an advantageous thing to do or not.”

“A matter of perspective. And a hint of misplaced jealousy...”

“I believe so, yes. To the former, at least.” He nodded, and smiled as well when she seemed to relax. A hard thing to recognize from the woman, but if one watched her shoulders they could read her easily enough. Straight as a blade’s edge meant anger or fury, sloped slightly inwards meant fatigue or anxiety, and a gentle, slight slope meant something neutral or happy. Moving on, he added, “I simply hope that my idea pans out properly. I would detest having wasted time on it when it happens to not be a viable method any longer.”

“Only time will tell in that matter, I am afraid.” He grunted an agreement and she went on, sighing tiredly. Or frustratedly, he couldn’t tell. “I wouldn’t doubt your ideas, though. You’ve more experience than even the Headmaster, and that is… Quite a feat to manage, to be sure.”

“I only wish you could have met my comrade, Brother Solaire. Truly, he could have lit in these children a hope and drive I can only pray to accomplish.” The name brought with it memories, of the man’s words, prowess and unbridled as well as unrivaled charisma. “He would be a better instructor than I can ever hope to be.”

“You’re doing fine, Deacon. You don’t need to have such exacting standards now, I have sharp enough requirements as it is, I assure you.” Glynda assured him quietly, offering a small smile in comfort before she coughed awkwardly and stood. “I shall get the bout underway no, Deacon. Try to relax a bit and watch, your input will be required once the fight is over.”

“As you say, Glynda.” Though he was, frankly, already relaxed. He understood her sentiment at least, as the woman stood to give the usual pre-fight speech and check. When she had finished and returned to her seat, he mused quietly, “I wonder if this spar shall go well. What do you think, Glynda?”

“I think that Miss Nikos can take on the entirety of team Cardinal by herself and come out virtually unscathed.” His brow rose at the note of confidence, and then, as the protective dome of Dust powered energy blossomed around the arena, she added, “Mister Arc, however, would struggle against any and every single person at this academy. And Miss Nikos is likely to attempt to protect him, thus dragging her capabilities down.”

“The will to protect others is… Admirable, though, is it not?” Surely her protective nature should be lauded as befitting of a guardian, but the way she’d said it sounded… Reproachful, in an incredibly odd way to him.

“The will to protect, yes.” She agreed, shaking her head slowly and sighing before adding, “But Miss Nikos smothers, even to the disadvantage of her partner’s training, often enough. And that approach is an issue worthy of mention, yes.”

“I suppose it could be.” Though the sentiment rubbed against his sensibilities the wrong way in practically every way, he knew that the urge to protect could be dangerous. “The urge to protect is a good one, but if taken to extremes… I have seen a great many knights, friends even, fallen far too early for their worth. Driven to rashness in their need to protect, and death as a result of their rashness.”

“Are you alright?” She asked quietly, the battle below beginning as Nikos began to dominate the dagger-wielding partner to Cardinal’s team leader. A domination mirrored by Winchester, pursuing young Arc while the smaller man tried to ward off the powerful swings of the man’s mace. Confused over her question, though, he turned to her with a raised brow and she explained. “You sounded upset, when you mentioned your… Fallen friends. I was just expressing concern.”

“Ah. I am fine, Glynda, I assure you. They died well, in honorable pursuits, and I mourned them in the past.” He winced when Nikos saw the young knight get buffeted away and turn, flinging her shield at the mace-wielding man who’d taken pains to beat the blonde away from the his partner. Distracted, she didn’t turn in time to defend herself against the young rogue’s shoulder slammed into the backs of her knees and bowling her over. She turned the fall into a roll, springing off her hand and getting back to her feet, but the damage had been done. “That is, I think, the first time I have seen her back meet the floor.”

“Indeed.” The young woman sounded vindicated, if angry to be, and shook her head tiredly along with it. “As I said, she smothers, and does so far, far too much. Her perfect record is gone now, because Mister Arc can’t defend himself.”

“Hm.” He watched the fight below, the blonde knight’s shield snapping up to catch every single strike without fail, but caving under them equally unfailingly. Every time it happened, the mace powered through and batted him aside, or buffeted him to the ground. “I disagree. Look closely, his guard catches the strikes, but it only catches them.”

“He can’t hold against them…” She said in agreement, leaning forward to watch the next few attacks before, with a thunderous cry, Winchester batted the blonde away into the wall. The blonde visibly cried out, but the sound didn’t reach him before the buzzer sounded against the young knight. “He’d be able to hold his own, if not for the strength difference.”

“Endurance and strength training?” He guessed, watching Miss Nikos now, undistracted by the constant glances and support she’d throw to her partner, begin systematically dismantling the duo. Honestly, he’d have been lying if he said it didn’t seem somewhat vindictive… Regardless, he added to his colleague, “If strength is his weakness, it seems the best course. Is there a class for that?”

“No, but… I could have his combat class hours dedicated instead to that, yes.” She agreed, nodding eagerly with the idea. “He’ll need supplementary martial training in actual combat however, to replace the time lost in your courses.”

“I have had him training with Miss Nikos, in his off time. He seems quite quick to learn, and she seems quite eager to train him.” Smothering indeed, but directed to an accurate and useful target it could be useful. “Between the two attentions, the young fighter may yet become a young warrior. Do you not agree?”

The woman paused to watch Miss Nikos hurl Winchester over her shoulder and bodily into his partner. Using her shield as a hammer, she kicked off of it to slam the entirety of her weight into them both, and the wall they slammed into. The force of both dipped the two fighters into the red and ended the match, the shields lowering while the two groaned on the ground, trying to collect themselves.

“If Mister Arc can even match half of Miss Nikos’ abilities, then yes. I agree.” He nodded and she smiled a friendly smile, barely more than the slight lifting of the edges of her mouth, and the woman asked, “Would you care to end the match with a critique, or may I?”

“By all means.” He waved a hand and she stood, moving to do just that while he thought in silence. When she’d finished and turned to him, he rose and asked, “May I be excused? I would speak with the defeated. Offer support, so they don’t wallow in their failings.”

“Of course.” She seemed surprised, but he ignored it and turned to leave. 

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“I am an instructor. Your instructor. My interests align with seeing you improve as a fighter and as a person both.” He answered the young man, seated beside his partner in the locker room and nursing a bruised arm his Aura had yet to heal. Standing stock still, he added, “I know the potential in you, I’ve seen it in hundreds of warriors. And of them, I have seen dozens like you. Would you like to know how many survived to their full ability?”

“How many?”

“Three.” He answered solemnly, frowning and exhaling a mighty sigh. “Johannes of Astora, Fra’am of Shiva, and… And myself. Three out of at least a century of knights-to-be, cut down in their youth. Full of brashness, bravado and spit, but unable to fully adjust to fighting against their nature to be better.”

“You were like me?” The man asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “How?”

“As I said, I was full of bravado and self-entitlement, thinking that I knew the world’s secrets, imparted to me by my father and my mother. I accepted my own and few others, spitting bile and torment on those I saw as lesser.” The Undead bowed his head slightly, meeting brown eyes with blue, and added for emphasis, “I almost lost my life for this pride and vanity, Winchester. Until one of my supposed lessers saved my life, after the deaths of ten like me in battle.”

“That won’t-”

“Thrush, Bronzewing and Lark.” He interrupted the burly young man, turning an eye on the rogue for emphasis. “Pick the ones you are willing to have die for your foolhardiness. Speak their names. Mister WInchester, and I shall leave until they fall for your arrogance.”

“I’m not gonna let my team fuckin’ die!” The man bellowed suddenly, standing and trying in spite of the size difference to intimidate the ancient warrior. Heaving air, the young man glared up at the pleasantly smiling Undead. Finally relenting and shaking his head, the team leader plopped onto the bench with a growl, his words meant more for the green-haired young man than anyone else. “I’d die before I let any of them kick the bucket, ‘specially if it was my fault.”

“Don’t you understand?” The Undead knelt, to put himself in a less intimidating pose, and smiled as congenially as he could manage given his size. “I want none of you to die in your youth, when you could be so much more. But you let arrogance and hatred cloud your being, and in doing so, stimy your growth. You harass and cajole your allies for being less than, just as I did. I learned by the deaths of my men that I was wrong. If words won’t teach you the same, then their bodies one day will.”

“You don’t know that, man.” Thrush interrupted weakly, laughing awkwardly in a way that proved he knew the Undead was right. “J-Just ignore him, Cardin. He’s full of-”

“I don’t want my boys dead…” The burly fighter interrupted, ignoring the rogue’s words and looking up at the Undead. His eyes were hard, jaw set in the way of a man resigned to do something he was not going to enjoy. “What do I have to do? Because I ain’t going through your shit.”

“Then you need to improve. Because the choice is binary. Your pride and hate, or your team.” The Undead rose, stopping halfway through a turn to speak to him in finality, “If you should choose your team… Apologize to Miss Scarlatina, and come to my place of prayer to speak. I will impart to you what helped me.”

“Where’s that again?” The man asked quietly, sounding more humble than he had ever heard from him. 

“Past the greenhouses, on the cliff edge. I am there in the afternoons and sometimes in the mornings. It will be hard to change, but… I see potential greatness in you, Mister Winchester.” Without further words, he turned and left the locker room, so the young warrior-in-training could think and recover with his friend. 

Outside, when the door shut behind him, he sighed and asked, “Do you disapprove of my actions, Headmaster?”

“Not at all. There aren’t many here with the tim and care to deal with Cardin’s problems, many as they are, with any skill or experience. Though I didn’t take you to be one who was ever prejudiced.” Ozpin stepped past him, walking along as he spoke and clearly desiring he follow. Once he had caught up, two long strides accomplishing it easily, Ozpin asked, “Is that true? That you were so hate filled and prideful?”

“I am unhappy to confess that it is.” He grimaced at the ancient, dusty memories. Faded as they were after so long, even what little he had brought him shame and pain. Behind him as it all was, the reminder was less than pleasant. “I was disdainful of those of ignoble birth who had been brought into the fold to train with us. The nobles put under my command died in battle due to that pride, and I was saved by those ignoble warriors.”

“A story worth telling, if a tragic one.” The Headmaster nodded, voice quiet as he spoke. The two turned, stepping around a corner and heading through empty halls, abandoned by students who were busy in their lessons at this time. “Thank you for your efforts, Deacon. Here and in our other, mor private pursuits both, I wished to thank you for it all.”

“It is but my duty, Headmaster.” He rumbled, following just behind him and enjoying the hum of life around him. “On the topic of duty, however, I have to ask why you came to me to speak. I doubt it was just for the pleasantries.”

“As much as I would like to say it is…” The Undead snorted his amusement and Ozpin returned with a small chuckle before finally calming down. “It’s about the Maiden problem we have… I wished to run my selection for Amber’s replacement by you, while we were alone and had some time.”

“Her replacement?” So soon already? He’d expected more delay in choosing a new Maiden to take over the role of the last. And while he pitied the woman… If those powers fell into the wrong hands, there would be great harm coming as a result. “Who have you chosen?”

“Miss Nikos holds the most promise, I feel.” The smaller man answered quietly, the Undead humming an acknowledgement. “She is kind, dutiful, honorable and empathetic. Everything a Huntress should aspire to be, and a formidable combatant as well. With the Maiden abilities and adequate training, she could be unstoppable.”

“No one is unstoppable.” He had died enough times to learn that lesson, and learn it well as an aside. “What of her team? She is doting as well, on the young Arc in particular. A consequence of her nature, the nature for which she is chosen, I am sure.”

“They’ll be trained as guardians, if things go as I hope.” A good use of them and a mercy for the young woman to not be pulled from her friends, the Undead supposed, nodding at the idea. “I simply wanted your opinion. Is she someone we can rely on to defend herself, and thus the Maiden powers, from those who might seek to take them from her? Particularly in conjunction with her team.”

“I believe she has the potential, yes. I would advise testing them in combat, and further training them to see the potentials of the three others as well, before putting this to her.” Ozpin nodded, but stayed silent while the Undead treaded along behind him slowly and thought. “It would not do to place a burden on one unprepared, or to place the burden of guardianship on her allies if they cannot do the job.”

“A true enough statement… Very well, I shall take what you’ve said under advisement.” The man looked up at him and smiled, “Now, please do tell me how your adjustment to our world is going? And your writing?”

“Both go well.” The man waited for more and the Undead sighed, starting to explain, “I have begun writings on the gods themselves, individually. Their duties, powers, and which to my knowledge survived beyond myself rekindling the First Flame.”

“I see… Tell me, Deacon,” the man’s smile was stiff, as though anxiety had taken him, “do you know of gods of darkness and light?”

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“I do not take kindly to failures, Doctor.” Salem said shortly, seated in her throne with her eyes closed against the disappointment and agitation. The two had returned immediately on a private ship Watts owned, looking haggard, injured and dirty from their fights. “We invested much into that. Resources we can’t get back, and a loophole in the Atlesian system of communication that will no doubt be plugged sooner than we can use it again. Had I known you would fail so spectacularly...”

“In fairness, Mistress…” Hazel started, waiting until she held a hand towards him to give him permission to speak. Nodding slightly in gratitude, he went on with that permission he’d been granted. “In fairness, we expected to ambush Branwen alone, away from any support. Two against one, he’d not have stood a chance against us working together.”

“The old man has a new piece.” Watts added, cradling an injured and bloodied arm with a sour expression. The arm was already healing, but hurt nonetheless, and unlike Hazel Watts couldn’t just ignore his wounds. “And that piece crushed Hazel easily enough. Were it not for him, Qrow would lie dead and our plan would be a simple success with little loss on our end.”

“Tell me then.” Salem growled, shaking her head tiredly. “Tell me about this newcomer, who so easily bested my most potent fighter.”

“At least ten feet tall, the man wore black armor. Etched in a silver metal, too, around the edges of the plates. He was armed with a tower shield, and he carried a sword as long as I am tall.” Hazel paused for breath, and then added, “And he said some sort of… Poem, that dragged me down. It was like gravity had tripled on me. Something about a… Tranquil walk of peace, and an ‘Oolacile’, I believe.”

“Hazel…” Her voice was low and sharp, carrying the kind of edge that scared all under her. “I want you to be clear with me, as clear as possible. He used a chant, including a reference to ‘Oolacile’. Correct?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He nodded, the woman going still for a long moment. 

“Very well then, I suppose you can’t be blamed for what happened.” The two men exchanged glances, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she spoke to Watts, “Have your wounds tended, I have work for you. You’re to head to Mistral, meet with Leonardo, and through him inquire about Ozpin’s now pawn. Or I suppose I should say, knight.”

“As you wish… Ma’am.” Watts nodded, exchanging one last look with the larger Hazel and asking, “Ma’am, is everything… Alright?”

“Quite.” She answered, waving a hand at him, “You are both dismissed. Go, leave me, I have things to look into. Old books to read, to… Refresh myself on some things I had thought ancient and useless to me.” 

The two left and she waited for some time, sitting in her chair and thinking. Oolacile was a familiar name to her, somehow, and while she knew that the place it came from predated herself she wasn’t sure why. Somehow, the name seemed important, as though it had been mentioned to her in the middle of something else important. But what?

Rising, she began to head to her private library, resolved to find out.

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Cyricist :

In short, he responded to a flippant and insulting question in the same way to make a point.

Yesboss :

On the question of the Arcs, I am… Actually staying away from them in this story, since I do so. Much. Jaune. So in this particular rendition, no, the Arc family is just a normal family. Not an ancient one.

As for Salem… Spoilers~

Zennishi :

Two reasons, one in-universe and one out. The in-universe one is that Aura is the manifestation of *a* soul. Deacon has several souls inside of himself, so awakening their Auras and his would EITHER destroy him or render him so grossly overpowered as to be a boring character to write.

The out of universe one is… Well, I wanted him to have some nerfs to make him not just face roll EVERYTHING he sees. For narrative purposes.


	13. Chapter 13

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Initiate, Greg Gibson

Initiate, Gentleman Mad

Initiate, Lebenden_Toten

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“Ah, Deacon. How are you this-” The Headmistress cut off in a short yawn he only caught the beginnings of, turning and hiding her head behind her dorm door as she did to politely hide the gesture, and then returned with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, it is quite early yet. I haven’t gotten to enjoy my coffee this morning, so I’m still… In the process of waking up, you could say.”

“Ah.” He blinked, surprised that the Headmistress wouldn’t be up with the rising of dawn as he was, considering how strict and regimented she was. Bowing his head and chastising himself for making base assumptions and acting on them, a death knell in his ventures through Lordran and thus something he should have known better than, he offered his apologies. “I did not mean to disturb you so early, Headmistress. I pray for your forgiveness for my impertinence.”

“No, no! I’m just… Waking up, still. You were not impertinent in the least to come and see me, Deacon, regardless of the early hour.” She blinked as she seemed to realize something, stepping back and pulling the door open fully, the woman standing in a long, pale gown and thick, fuzzy looking slippers. Stepping aside, she waved a hand inside her dorm and smiled, “Please, come in. I was just about to make breakfast, so we can talk and eat, if you like.”

“You have not even eaten?” He grimaced, suddenly feeling worse for having interrupted her morning. “I did not wish to speak of something of enough import to impose. We can speak later, if-”

“No, no, please, I insist. You are not imposing in the slightest, Deacon, I would quite like some company for breakfast for once.” She waved her hand dismissively and smiled, the massive Undead rumbling in thought for a moment before nodding and stepping over the threshold. “I was just about to make sandwiches.” She said as she stepped past him, the giant warrior stepping against the wall to let her by after she’d shut the door, “Egg, cheese and fried ham. Is that alright by you?”

“I would not be so impudent as to refuse any food offered so kindly to me.” He said simply, smiling when the woman looked to him. “May I sit?”

“Of course, sit wherever you like.” She said brightly, flicking her wrist at the cupboard beside the fridge with a spark of Aura flaring along her fingers curiously. The door opened enough to admit the single glass plate she needed for him and, without looking, she flicked the same fingers towards the table he sat at by the window, the ceramic thing floating over and laying down gently. Turning, she started cooking again and, amid the sound of frying meat, asked, “What would you like to speak about?”

“I wish to learn the religions of the modern world through someone…” He paused, searching for a moment for the right word to describe the doctor, and finally giving up, folding his hands on the table beside the plate. “I suppose normal is the proper word, though I am loathe to even in jest insult the good Doctor Oobleck thusly. But I do fear I lack a better word for it. Or at least, a word that means as I wish it to without being a graver insult.”

“Don’t worry about insulting him. Even Bart knows how ridiculous Bart can be when he finds something of historical interest to dig into. And, sorry to say, he can slip a bit and mistake a person for a thing to research.” She shrugged, not looking at him while he stared at the back of her head, unsure of what else to look at. Turning to look at him and shrugging again, she added, “Even he knows that much. It’s just the way that he is, truly. There’s no harm in accepting what he himself already accepts.”

“I suppose that is sensible enough, Headmistress.” He conceded, finally turning away from the woman to look around. 

The dorm was almost exactly the same as his, minus the desk he’d been given for his own work and plus a curtain that divided the bed area from the living one mostly, only showing the furthest right side where the low wall blocked the curtain, where his own desk sat in his dorm. A small shelving tower sat next to the glass and metal box that he enjoyed fiddling with at night before his rest, little boxes slotted in purposefully with names and numbers he didn’t understand properly. 

“The food shall be done shortly, I only need to fry the eggs.” Glynda called over her shoulder, a hand reaching into the fridge beside the oven to fish out the little, yellow container he knew people used to store the little things. Turning to look at him, she asked, “Do you mind waiting until then for our discussion?”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling patiently and sitting in the comfortable chair, more than content enough to wait for her. He was already imposing on her early morning, and eating food she was making for him as an aside. A few minutes of waiting was nothing in comparison. 

Inside ten minutes, she came around the table to drop the two sandwiches she’d made for him on his plate. Humming and a gentle tune she took her seat, adding her sandwiches to her own before sending the plate they’d been on floating into the kitchen. Another flick summoned two mugs and a glass pot, the small items floating towards the woman’s open hand and then down onto the table with a flick of those same fingers. She poured them each a small cup of the hot, brown liquid and he took his gratefully, sipping at it and humming in appreciation. 

“Now,” she said after a hungry bite of one of hers, “what did you want to know, precisely? I’m afraid I am not the most religious of people, in fact I’m rather areligious and would be atheistic outright were it not for the information the Headmaster possesses, so my knowledge is limited to an outside perspective.”

“But you at least know of the fables and tales of this land. The gods the people of your time worship, beseech for aid and pay homage to.” He countered, taking a bite of his own sandwich and waiting until he’d swallowed it to continue. “It is mere curiosity, really. And as you expressed interest in that of my time, and are… Somewhat calmer of disposition, I sought to ask you about it. To hear a tale worthy of your telling.”

“I can only think of one. A short story, from my own home town. A small settlement near Vale’s great wall.” He nodded, waiting silently in the hope she would tell it, his hand absently bringing his sandwich to his lips to take another huge bite from meaningfully. He couldn’t speak while chewing, and he knew she knew he wouldn’t be so uncouth as to speak with a full mouth. 

Sighing good naturedly, she started in a quiet voice, “There was, once upon a time, a city beset by dark beasts and cruel men. In this city, lived a pale woman, whose skin matched the snow and whose hair sat long and straight like spun gold.” She started, pausing to take a bite of her meal and, likely, remember the story properly. “This woman was an aristocrat, who could choose to live a life whose only trouble was the kind of party to throw for the evening. A life of laxness and comforts, if she but closed her eyes and reached out for it.”

“But, so the story goes, she saw the sickness that had beset her city, and fell in love with the people who fought against it. Who strove to cure the tide of sickness seeping through men and turning them into base beasts. Creatures slavering for their next morsel to take from others.” She seemed to dwell on that particular part, emphasising the last sentence more than the others unintentionally. But the Undead kept his tongue, instead letting her take a drink of her coffee and finish. “Instead of that easy life, she took up two sides, and took on the task of cleansing her city of those who thought to lord power over the weak. Until, in the last, she became that creeping malignance, sitting upon her throne and imposing her order on those too weak to resist.”

“Or, at least,” she shrugged, smiling innocuously, “that’s how the story goes.”

“The lesson, I take it, is supposed to be that power corrupts even the good intentioned eventually?” 

“Yes, that’s the intent of the story from what I understand. Though,” the Headmistress gave him a look, one eyebrow raised teasingly at him and a small smile curving her lips, “I suppose that lesson is kind of wasted on someone like you. Power never did corrupt you, so the lesson, while a useful warning, is a bit hollow. Is it not?”

“Even for my kind, power is a corrupting influence.” He rumbled quietly, taking a long and deep breath. The woman watched him, taking a purposeful bite of her last sandwich and raising her brows meaningfully at him as he had done to her a short while ago. His turn for a story, it would seem… “For my kind, taking power is what sustains us. Souls, the energy I told you about and have written about in my books, it sustains us. With it, I can grow faster, stronger, even force my mind to strengthen if I wish to do so. Only...”

“Only you have to kill living things to do it.” Glynda filled in for him, the woman humming in thought and grimacing. “I can imagine that bringing quite a number of issues, myself. The pursuit of power, where power means killing… The bloodshed could grow out of control, if people do not take great care.”

“The Souls can of course be gathered by killing monsters and beasts, but even if an Undead were to simply start slaughtering animals to sate his lust for power… The peasantry would starve, as deer and livestock were culled.” It had happened a few times, he remembered hearing of them. Undead desperate for Souls to stave off madness or in need of strength to fight monsters, slaughtering animals in droves and hurling counties into famine. “Faiths, military movements, political blocks and Orders of Knights emerged fairly quickly to try and combat the problem, but by then… The only way to combat the Undead crisis was to combat it.”

“Not a very successful solution, I hazard to guess?” She asked quietly, the Undead nodding mutely and keeping his tongue. She knew as much as he was willing to spend time talking about of what happened back then. Smiling brightly, to stave off the oncoming mood more than anything he was certain, she clapped her hands together politely and asked, “How is Mister Winchester doing, then? On a happier, easier note to speak about, I hope.”

“Better.” He answered, thankful for the easy segue into a nicer conversation. “I found a proper way to pressure him into changing his behavior. He is prideful and vainglorious, petty to those around him and uncaring of it. But he is protective of his team, and I approached the issue at hand with that as an angle.”

“And you believe this will work in… Mellowing his tendencies?”

“I do.” He nodded, smiling pleasantly now. “Once I go out to my meditations, I hope he will come to see me.”

“You invited him?” She seemed surprised, pouring herself another glass of the warm coffee. Holding it towards him, she added, “Would you like some more?”

“Yes.” He nodded, sliding his empty mug towards her enough so that she could fill it for him while he spoke. “I hope to impart some wisdom and training unto him, as I see great potential in him to be a splendid defender. Once his pride has curbed a bit, and he no longer cares that I lack your Aura.”

“Have you considered experimenting with that?” He raised an eyebrow at her and she explained, “Aura, I mean. You have a soul, surely, and from that emerges Aura. Have you considered trying to activate one for yourself to use?”

“I have considered it, but… What I am is different from what you are, Glynda.” He paused, looking for the right words to explain it properly, and then, when he failed, went on as best he could. “An Aura is the personification of who and what a person is, at the very most basic of their natures and mentalities, correct?”

“Theoretically, yes. There have been cases of people’s Semblances shifting as they age, though they always remained similar to what they started as, for that reason.” She answered, sliding into her role as a lecturer a bit easier than normal. “Thus the hypothesis goes, that people’s natures and mental core of their personality found their Semblance, in some respect. Though that lends us no predictive information, it’s our best guess at the moment.”

“Indeed, as I have read.” Or as Oobleck had lectured him while he was reading, more like. But such was the same, in effect at least. “But what I am is different. Raw Humanity can, and does, corrupt things around it. Turning normal people into monsters, poisoning plants, and worse. If that were to manifest outside myself…”

“It could cause a lot of harm.” She finished, the Undead nodding simply and enjoying another drink of his coffee. “A shame… Oh well, you are formidable beyond reason as it is, you don’t need an Aura. And with the risks-”

The woman cut off, a buzzing emanating from her sleeping area. Standing, she stepped through the curtain and sighed audibly, calling back to him, “Mister Winchester is, apparently, in the nurse’s office at the moment.”

“What?” He snapped, surprised, as he stood. Shaking his head, he rumbled, “What has he done this time… The little fool.”

“All the nurse has said to me here is that his nose is broken fairly badly.” She called back, accompanied by the sounds of drawers scraping open. “Give me a moment, I will get dressed properly and we’ll get to the bottom of this. Knowing him, it wa likely another damned fight…”

“Hm.” Maybe his lessons and faith had been spurned once again… No matter, he’d just try again, if that were the case.

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The medical clinic was, as a surprise to the Undead warrior of so many centuries, very familiar. A wide main desk at the door and long central set of desks, shelves and medical storage down the middle, a row of ten beds against the wall to either side with U shaped rings affixed to the ceilings, white curtains hanging from thin, metal rungs on them. Enough space had been left between each for the curtains to be drawn even with the machines tucked into each corner of the wide, sterile smelling room. Only a couple nurses meandered around, plus one sitting behind the desk and working tiredly on something at the small, boxlike device in front of her.

Leaning over slightly, he whispered to the golden haired woman, “What is that machine?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t have seen one, I handle everything through my Scroll…” She sighed like she was annoyed by the question, but smiled thinly regardless and shook her head. “It’s a computer. Think of it as a Scroll, but bigger and for more heady, complex tasks than a simple Scroll may necessarily be able to handle.”

“Ah.” A larger tool for heavier work, which was more than sensible. The nurse at the computer looked up, tired eyes blinking as she registered them and he spoke, “We are here to see Mister Winchester, Ma’am. He was submitted for-”

“A broken nose and a busted lip.” The woman cut him off simply, turning in her seat and pointing to the back left of the room. Two russet, lupine ears flicked on her head as she spoke, ords bored and mechanical sounding. “He’s been cleaned up and had his nose set, we’re only keeping him because the Headmistress asked and so we can watch to make sure his Aura heals it properly. Also, he looks steamed, so we didn’t want him to start something else just because he’s pissed off someone clocked him.”

“We’ll deal with him well enough, rest assured.” Glynda assured the woman tightly from beside him, the medical worker just nodding mutely. Either tired or just unwilling to breathe a word edgewise to the Headmistress, he couldn’t tell and didn’t feel a need to dwell on it. Casting a glance up at him, she added simply, “He’s your pet project, after all. By all means, lead the way.”

“Hm.” He couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not, and simply bowed his head in acquiescence. “As you say, Headmistress.”

When they reached the young man, he was bare-chested and laying on his bed with his eyes closed like he was sleeping, left eye blackened and swollen, nose still red and irritated with little pieces of wood and bandages holding it still, and lips red, one burst and swollen. His clothes were bundled at the foot of the bed, the white shirt stained with his blood around the collar. The woman and the massive Undead saw it at the same time, the young man blinkning up at them and starting to rise awkwardly as the warrior turned to ask the Headmistress for a favor.

“I will go and get him a fresh shirt. He can’t walk around half naked, for all and might enjoy it, and the nurse’s desk should be able to get one here shortly enough, so I’ll bring it to you.” She sighed, rolling her eyes and striding away before he could either ask or thank her in either case. Calling over her shoulder, she added, “Enjoy your talk.”

“Now then,” he started, folding his massive arms over his chest and turning to look down on the smaller man, “do you wish to explain what happened? Or shall I be forced to hazard a guess?”

“I went to bee the Barlatina bitch and bay I was freakin’ borry. Okay?” He grunted, the sound off and words slurred between his burst lip and broken nose, the younger man wincing as he spoke for both reasons. Reasons which, without much care, the Undead professor elected to ignore his swearing. For the moment, at the least. “Got there, didn’t even get a chance to fuckin’ bpeak, and her damn leader came out howling like a banbhee. Kicked the phit outta me, too.”

“And you didn’t fight back?”

“No!” He snarled, and then winced, raising a hand to gingerly touch at his chin. “I didn’t do nuffin’ back. Thought the bitch would dtop.”

“I see… Sit still, Winchester.” He ordered lowly, reaching out a hand to rest it atop the young man’s head and closing his eyes. The teen didn’t resist, surprised or maybe confused over what was happening, but regardless it let him do as he wished. “And the Lady of Light laid her hands upon the weary Knight and did say, ‘By my voice, be Healed’.”

The sound of bells rang out, mute and weak as the minor Miracle excerpt was, and kicked off just enough wind to rustle the curtains around them. The young man hissed in surprised pain, nose snapping straight and redness fading, his lip smoothing out once more and sealing up as the swelling faded, and bruised eye fading away in a matter of seconds. The Undead, satisfied by his work, lifted his hand away and the other warrior blinked up at him.

“How did you-”

“Not every secret is yours to know, young Winchester.” He said simply, smiling as sagely as he could manage. “But suffice it to say, I and my people lack Auras. Not abilities to aid us in our battle. Mending is part of fighting, you understand, and so we had to learn ways around our weaknesses. Now, please explain in detail what happened.”

“I… Went to their dorm, knocked on the door to, you know… Talk to the Scarlatina girl.” He shrugged, looking past the Undead as Goodwitch joined them, handing the shirt to him and meaningfully titling he rhed at him. He simply shrugged, the woman’s brow rising, and turned to pay attention to the young man. “Her team’s leader answered instead. Then started kickin’ the shit outta me, like I said. I tried telling her I was there to apologize, but… She didn’t buy it.”

“Did you expect to receive any different on your first real try?” He asked, raising an eyebrow meaningfully when the large young man looked at him disbelievingly. “You struck her many times, pulled her ears, insulted her. And so, when you went to see her and make right what you did wrong, you were returned in kind. It is sad that you were attacked, but not undeserved from the friends of your victim.”

“You sayin’ I deserved this?”

“Yes.” He answered simply, the brown haired man blinking in surprise. “You did wrong unto them, and they reacted. Now the fields are even, however, and you can try again.”

“What, so they can break my nose? Again?” He asked loudly, snatching up the shirt and standing suddenly, getting in close to the Undead in a classic, if immature, attempt at intimidating him. An act done on instinct, he was sure, and one he didn’t react to beyond his eyebrows climbing higher into his hairline. “Look, I tried, okay? No one can say I didn’t, but I ain’t getting slapped around again. I’ll just leave ‘em alone.”

“If I may, Mister Winchester.” Glynda started simply, smiling gently at the young man. “How about if I accompany you to see them? If I explain what is actually going on, then… Well, Miss Adel can’t very well assault me now can she?”

“It is for the best.” He added in his rumbling tone, stepping away from the young man and nodding his head. “I shall leave for prayer and, if you elect to speak with her, I hope you will have a good time of it. The choice is, ultimately, yours.”

He turned and took two large steps towards the door before the young mace wielder called after him, “I’ll go see her, for fuck sake. But if Coco starts swinging again, that’s the end of the fucks I give. You got that?”

“A fair position to take, Mister Winchester.” He had already said as much, after all, but he called back regardless. The man, he knew, simply wanted to have a voice in this decision at all. Something he could at least respect, given the progress he’d already made, even if such stubbornness was unbecoming. “If you wish it, come to my cliff. We can train for some time, with business out of the way.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” He shouted back, ever the defiant, contrarian young man.

A couple hours later, he heard the young man finally arrive, kneeling on the hardened dirt of his circle. Without turning, he asked, “How went it this time?”

“Went fine. Said I was sorry, said I wouldn’t pull the shit again, left. Got a sandwich, ate it, got bored… So yeah.” The young man grunted, flopping onto the grass near the cliff’s edge and looking out over the forest. “Out here now.”

Curious and wishing to test something, the Undead didn’t speak, waiting to see what the young man would say next. But the young man didn’t say anything, instead just looking at the forest, watching it like Deacon himself did so often. And if the young fighter enjoyed relaxing and watching the forest so much, he could grant him that for a time. A short time, of course, but a time nonetheless. 

“Do you enjoy watching the trees?” He asked after a few minutes, the young man starting in surprise at the interruption. The young warrior had probably thought that he would never speak, given the long silence, and he chuckled at the reaction. “You are normally so boisterous and agitated, I mean. Yet you seem glad to simply… Watch the trees shift in the breeze.”

“I mean… Yeah.” He finally deflated, turning around and crossing his legs, pressing his thumbs against each other anxiously. “It’s relaxing, ya know? Watching the trees, listening to the wind and the birds, whatever… Always liked it, growing up.”

“I never see you walking the gardens or along the cliffs.” And the Undead did walk them, often enough he should have encountered the man if he was interested. “Do you not seek out these places to enjoy gazing upon? It is virtuous to indulge such gentle pleasures, you know, and good for a temperate mind.”

“My dad thought different.” The man said in response, the Undead finally feeling a piece fall into place and begin, at last, to show him the mechanics that made up Cardin Winchester. After a second, the young man went on, “Always said gardens and shit like that was, you know, for women. And the woods were for the animals. Four legged ones and two legged ones, didn’t matter.”

“And thus your vitriol.” The Undead rumbled, rising in his spot and moving to the edge of the cliff with a tired sigh. “At the Faunus and in general, thus comes your anger. Sensible, even if something that ought be put to an end. Something you are well on your way to doing, I note with pride.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you be proud?” The young man asked, turning his head and craning his neck high to look up at him. Eyes narrowed, the young fighter added, “Why give a fuck about me? And don’t give me the vague ‘I was kinda like you, once’ crap. I wanna know the real reason, not some movie bullshit.”

“Hmm.” Kneeling, the Undead let out a sigh of though, looking out on the forest for answers. Teenagers… Even his infinite patience understood now what kinds of trials they could put people through. “Most of it is, in fact, that I see myself in you. However, there is also the small part of myself looking to see if I am worthy of my title.”

“Your title?”

“I am the last of the Warriors of Sunlight, Winchester.” He answered quietly, reverently reaching up to lay his hand over the little, golden disks beneath his shirt. It warmed to his touch, as though to comfort him, and he went on in the same tone. “You are troubled, as much I can see. And to what you have already said, I am sure there is infinitely more than a father that didn’t encourage your passions and had unkind words for what he saw as lesser to himself.”

“But my duties are varied, chief among them offering council to those who need it. If I can’t provide council to those who need it…” He sighed and shook his head, “Then I am unworthy of the title, and my covenant is well and truly dead. And myself, a failure of catastrophic proportions.”

“So I’m just… A test?”

“No. You are a test of my abilities, yes, but you are much more. A warrior with potential, a man denied his happiness, a man struggling against hatred, and more were I to go on.” He assured the young man, smiling and standing as the clouds drifted in front of the sun. Turning, it looked as if it would be dark for the rest of the day, and he rumbled a hum of thought. “A bad omen, for the sky to darken so in mid conversation...”

“It’s just… The weather?” Cardin tried, standing regardless and brushing off the seat of his pants idly. 

“Perhaps.” And perhaps not just as equally, he kept to himself. Sensing a presence join them in the clearing, one he’d sensed long ago and ignored, the sensation too far to tell who it was, he raised his voice and asked, “Who goes there?”

“Just a student, Professor.” The woman’s voice called as she stepped out of the forestry proper and into the clearing. 

Her uniform was strange, black and checkered in places, and her eyes seemed to glow. Ebony hair and ivory skin, flawless without fail on both respects, and taller than most women he knew here as well, if only just. At least among the students. And she carried herself with an air of authority, like she assumed a place of power for herself, that other students didn’t. But such wasn’t what caused his shoulders to tense, or his eyes to narrow.

“I’ve been introducing myself to the professors, Sir.” She added with a demure smile and polite nod of her head, sliding into a small pseudo-curtsy as she did. “My name is Cinder Fall, of Haven Academy. My team is one of the early transfers, and the Headmistress encouraged me to meet my main professors to smooth over the transition.”

“Indeed.” He grunted shortly, and impolitely, a part of him added. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. “It’s a pleasure, Madame.”

In her, he sensed the same energy as within Amber… Which meant she had attacked the young Maiden and stolen her soul. And now, she was at Beacon Academy, likely intending to make another attempt to the same end.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Mangahero :

Deacon is around nine and a half feet, and slightly wider than Hazel is himself. Pure muscle mass, of course. And yes, he’s huge. Gargantuan, even. Such is kind of on purpose, though. 

Randomly generic Name :

Compared to others, Jaune is rather weak. But in this, Deacon was referring less to pure muscle mass and more to knowing how to use said muscle and strength. 

Yes Boss :

Cardin is, as Deacon says himself, a lot like him. And full of potential to be great, with some changes to his bearing and personality. Already, he pegged Cardin as caring about his team and friends.

Two Tacoes Tuesday :

Just what I give him, since I don’t know what he does use. And there’s a lack of pistol marksman, so… Seemed good enough, to me.


	14. Chapter 14

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“What do you mean, she’s here?” Ozpin asked carefully, standing in front of his desk and leaning on his cane, fingers clenched so tight around the metal handle that the knuckles turned pale white and the cane trembled as though trying not to break. “Amber’s assailant couldn’t possibly be so foolish as to attempt to infiltrate Beacon Academy itself. She would have to know that she’d be found out eventually, surely.”

“I make no guess as to the success of her infiltration over the course of whatever endeavor she embarked upon, Headmaster, as I know not enough to gauge that.” He answered easily, the calmness in his voice probably betrayed mildly by his anxious pacing between the silver haired man and the elevator. “However, she is here. And within her, I sensed the life force of two instead of one.”

“What kind of life force?” He asked curiously, the Headmaster looking up at him and adding, after a moment of the Undead’s confused gaze. “Humor me, please, Deacon. This is… Something that needs taking in, and you must accept questions from those who don’t know how you do these things.”

“One normal being, Human, and without much to it of note.” Beyond a strange presence about her that he couldn’t place quite well enough to state it outright. “The other fractured, Human as well to be sure but… Diluted by something else. The same something I sensed, broken in the same, within young Amber.”

“How is it that you noticed that at all?” The man asked, curiosity laced with… Something else in his voice that the Undead couldn’t guess at. His confusion at the question must have shown because the Headmaster explained, “I know little of how you sense life, beyond that you can. Your writings haven’t covered it. Not to mention, this is a grave charge to level.”

“You need know my methods before you may back my conclusions comfortably.” He guessed, the smaller being nodding curtly. 

“Yes.” The man answered simply, “I hope you can understand that.”

“I suppose you have a reason behind your request.” It was understandable, he supposed after a moment, even if it was annoying to be second guessed like that. “I can sense life forces and their presences. Normally, it is only truly the mere presence that I am able to sense. As in, that a living being is there at all, though I gain no specifics. For instance, while I sense you as a living entity, I get little in the way of an emotional state, or even your gender, unless I focus on you.”

“Yet this Miss Fall, and the surname does raise some alarms in my head mind you, you could sense in passing.” He nodded simply and the man asked the most obvious of questions. “How could you tell that?”

“Only because she, myself and Mister Winchester were the only truly living beings for a good amount of distance around.” Droids, while they sparked with the barest hint of a sparking, weak whimper of a soul, were hard pressed to match and mute a Human being’s burning fire of life. And no large animals dwelt on the small plateau Beacon had been built on, so none of those were around to dilute it either. “Not to mention my continued presence there, as my place of modest worship, has raised my… Attunement, I suppose works as a term, to the surroundings there.”

“Familiarity and scarcity then, rather than any more… Innate abilities of yours?” He nodded and, for the briefest second, the Undead could have sworn he saw… Relief paint the man’s face. Like a stroke on a canvas, but one quickly seen for a flaw and covered by a more measured visage by the artist’s hands. “Very well then. We will need evidence to act against her, however.”

“I have the evidence. I just told you of it.”

“A sensation born of something innate to you that we can’t adequately explain to the authorities if we should arrest or, as likely, kill this Cinder Fall.” Seeming tired, the man sighed and sat at the edge of his desk. With a grimace he shook his head and added, “It seems our half lies about your origin, and your inability to generate an Aura, all play against us now.”

“We lack the convenient excuse that would be a Semblance.” Something that should have been foreseen, but such was hindsight. Mirrors, hindsight and history books. All the same in that they showed you more clearly what was behind you. “And so we cannot explain how I would know this. Assuming that the authorities, as you call them, could even understand the situation.”

“Only one of the Councilors knows of the Maidens, and only in passing. Nothing specific, or about the true importance of them.” The Headmaster sighed, and the Undead froze in his pacing. 

“Nor, I think, do I. Not in full and not in truth, at the very least.” The ancient warrior rumbled gently, turning to look down on the man. Ozpin, always odd and strange, looked back up at him as something strange tugged at his instincts. “Headmaster, my words fail me. In your age, is there a phrase for… Feeling as though you have done something before. Been here before.”

“Deja vu.” The man answered after a moment of thought, eyes raking him over questioningly. Whatever he wanted to say, though, he kept to himself and instead went on in his amused and lecturing tone, as he used sometimes when answering his questions about the world at large, few as the times the Undead had asked him about it were. “A Mistralian saying, if I remember right. Or maybe Atlesian or Mantelian, I’m not the best with word origins. Bartholomew would be your better bet there. Why do you ask, anyway?”

“Nothing. Merely an odd sensation, emanating from nearby. Familiar to the woman’s own life force.” He sighed, turning to look out on the afternoon sun, and the glinting it brought on the cityscape so far away. “But in the midst of the school, I cannot possibly tell from where it echoes. The lives of hundreds echo with it.”

“Perhaps Miss Fall or Amber's own life?” The man suggested, reaching up with a hand to rest his chin between his thumb and finger in thought. 

“Perhaps.” The Undead agreed, resuming his anxious pacing and adding, “How do you want this issue dealt with, Headmaster? I can easily best her, I am certain of it.”

“Isn’t humility part of your knightly code?” Ozpin asked, head tilted in curiosity and eyes narrowed playfully at him. As though this were, somehow, a game to be played between them. Or something to joke about. “I should think pride like that would be against your code of ethics, unless I am grossly mistaken.”

“I am not being a braggart, I know how powerful I am.” Unless she were more powerful than a dragon at least, which was something he somehow doubted. “Besides, if she is powerful enough to best me somehow, then she would devastate most here. And of your staff, I am the only who can rise again once killed.”

“And that is a good reason to be rash?” Ozpin chided, “We can’t afford to rush into a decision better made in counsel with others involved. There’s no need to rush into a senseless battle here, Deacon.”

“I am not being rash, Ozpin.” He snapped, turning and pointing a finger at the man and then down, below them, to the vault deep below Beacon. Where Amber lay. “You are charged with protecting the Maidens, as you have said. Amber lies below, and her attacker is here. Perhaps slaying the woman will allow the young Maiden to revive.”

“I am sworn to defend them, not avenge them.” The Headmaster argued simply, the Undead shaking his head at the semantics. “Further, there is no guarantee that killing Miss Fall will save Amber. Or even allow her to pass on and let another Maiden rise, for that matter, if you kill her.”

“The power would be safer within me.”

“The power is safest when we know for sure where it is, and how it has normally been kept has always done the job well enough.” Ozpin said simply, waving a hand through the air dismissively. And, with the gesture, making clear his decision before he even began to speak it. “I can’t risk the power being lost, even for a time. Our enemies could find the new Maiden before us, and that is an intolerable result. I’m sorry, Deacon, but beyond putting eyes on her and watching her, I won’t be doing anything for now.”

“Very well.” He rumbled, mind a tempest of emotions he was… Less than glad to be feeling, least of all for them being in regards his thus far most beneficent host. “If it is what you suggest, and you know what you are doing, I shall not go against your will, Ozpin. I will trust you to deal with this threat.”

“I appreciate your trust, Deacon.” The man smiled up at him, only seeming to feed the… Disquiet he felt. 

“I do not like it, not in the least. My honor cries at me to strike the witch down for her crimes, and grant young Amber some peace.” He reminded the man, waving a hand to his side, at the glinting and shining city in the distance. “But I have not fought for this world long, though I love it dearly. You have, and you know it, so I will trust your experience.”

“Thank you, Deacon.” The man nodded his head, smiling slightly and moving to take a seat in his chair slowly after a second. “I am glad you love this world after all, and glad even more that you are so willing to fight for it.”

“It is my duty, to defend the sanctity of life and the peoples who need me to.” He nodded, hand loosening around the pommel of his sword somewhat, where it had rested ever since his unwelcome discovery. Instinct, old and ingrained, and of the kind he felt no need to fight. “I am more than content to defend whatever world exists, so long as it has some semblance of justice and brightness to it.”

“Indeed, but I feel that it needs stating regardless. Few would begrudge you retiring to a comfortable place, after all your ventures, after all.” Drumming his fingers on the table, the man spoke slowly and, somewhat, unsurely. As though he wasn’t sure of his own decision as he made it. “I believe you need to know what these powers are, as clear and present a danger as the Maiden powers seem to have very suddenly become.” 

“A conversation that perhaps was always prudent.” He said simply, half-chiding and doing so unashamedly. 

“I had always intended it, once I knew I could trust you. And please, take no offence to that, my, er, career merits mistrust ahead of trust in all cases.” The man grimaced, head bowing politely at the ancient warrior. “Even, and often especially, when it concerns those of a more noble temperament.”

“Time long since past, I would have begrudged any and every duty or, as you call it, career that requires such underhandedness.” But he’d met a great many people of a great many pasts and duties in his time. And so a sort of tolerance had overtaken his old, out of fashion and useless then and now, sensibilities. “So I shall forgive, once more, what I can’t begin to claim as useless or wrong in this world.”

“I wonder how much longer that kindness will continue?” He raised his eyebrow at the man in a clear question and, shaking his head, Ozpin sighed tiredly. Or perhaps painedly, judging by the grim look and the way he avoided the knight’s gaze. “Many don’t share your sense of faith, suffice to say.”

“Until it is unreasonable.” He said in answer, the Headmaster glancing up at him and this time, his eyebrow rose in question. “I shall place faith in your word until I know better. Or if I ever know better. Or at the last, know enough to apply my vows and codes of ethics to this world so I might act in proper accordance. Until then, I shall trust you, and pray that you do not disappoint me.”

“Fair enough, as things go. I certainly hope I never have to see you disappointed in me.” The Headmaster smiled warmly and, with a hand, gestured at the seat opposite him. “Please, have a seat while we talk.”

“This will… Take a minute.” And for once, the Undead felt anyone would have been able to believe him implicitly.

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“How did it go?” Emerald asked the question as soon as they’d gotten their free period after lunch - and while she hated the place, she did somewhat enjoy the two hour break in the day, so credit where do, she supposed - and returned to their dorm. The girl had been practically bouncing in need of knowing and, now they were alone, Cinder didn’t restrain the baleful glare for her over-eager demands. “I-I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, Ma’am. I’m just curious, in case you… Need something from me.”

“I will tell you when I need you for anything at all, Emerald. I assure you.” The woman nodded, walking stiffly to her bed and sitting on the edge while Cinder watched. Satisfied the young woman was sufficiently cowed, she leaned against the wall by the door, idly checking over her nails while she spoke. “I introduced myself, as was the plan, so I could get a look at our… Person of interest. Mercury, what did you find out?”

“Word around the school from the guy’s side of things is he’s from Vacuo, the region though. Not the Kingdom.” The amputee answered, lounging on his bed with his legs hanging off limply and arms behind his head. “Some kind of ‘knighthood’, or something like that, that doesn’t have Auras or Semblances or anything. Monster hunters, apparently, which everyone assumes means Grimm.”

“Girls said the same thing, too.” Emerald added when Cinder looked to her and raised her brow. Like the child she was, she spoke quickly, still anxious not to upset her against after the first time a moment prior. “Apparently he’s strong, talks… Kind of weird, compared to other Vacuoans, and keeps to himself a lot. Except for Ozpin, Goodwitch, a doctor of archeology and ancient history here, and Cardin Winchester, who he’s training or something. People aren’t too sure about it, really.”

“I saw that, Winchester was there when I went to introduce myself.” As inconsequential as the young man seemed, it was still something to wonder about. A potential target, maybe, if things came to a head in a way she didn’t like. “I can also confirm that he does talk in a different way to most people hailing from Vacuo. More refined, almost… More classical, in a way.”

“S’what everyone on my end said, too.” Mercury offered, the woman humming in thought and looking to Emerald. 

“Interesting…” Cinder thought aloud, one hand stroking her chin comfortably while the other drummed absently on her thigh. “Good work, to the both of you, for finding out what you have so quickly.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Emerald preened, looking for all the world like she’d been handed the proverbial golden ticket. But such compliments ensured her loyalty, baiting whatever maternal sense she got from the woman, or maybe some infantile crush. “Glad to be of help, Ma’am.”

Perhaps the latter, then, for how little she cared either way. Loyalty was loyalty, and so long as Emerald remained loyal how Cinder got it didn’t matter. 

“Not a problem.” Mercury, on the other hand, was a somewhat unknown factor. She turned a glare on him, matched by a more petulant one from Emerald, and he blinked, “I-I mean, not a problem, Ma’am. Doin’ my job, Ma’am.”

“Indeed you were, Mercury.” His loyalty was in question, and for a brief moment she began thinking of whether she should try and secure it. And how, though that was more obvious than she’d have liked. He was a teenager, after all. So, with a smile and showily phishing her Scroll out of her blouse, where she kept a second, special Scroll safe and sound, she added, “If you continue to impress me, you may earn a… Reward, in time.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Doctor, it’s good you answered your Scroll on the first try. For once.” She said instead of responding to him, ignoring the odd look from the young assassin, and Emerald’s jealous scowl as well. “We have some information for you to look into. Our person of interest’s name is ‘Deacon Knight’ and apparently he hails from Vacuo. Part of a knighthood order or some such there.”

“Limited information, but I suppose I am a miracle worker.” The way he said it, as always, aggravated her to no end. That smug sense of superiority, as always, permeating his every word. “I’m surprised you managed a success so soon, give your-”

“Oops.” She sighed, clicking the Scroll closed and returning it to her bra for safe keeping. With a smile, she turned to Emerald and shrugged, “The connection seems to have dropped, all of the sudden.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“If you keep coming over like this, rumors will begin to circulate, Deacon.” Glynda sighed, arms folded, when she opened the door that evening. “You make a habit of coming to see me in my private quarters, and the students will understandably run rabid with the information. You understand that, I hope?”

“I do, and apologize for the inconvenience of such rumors, should they come to pass.” He rumbled, twiddling his thumbs anxiously while he searched for the right words to properly communicate his thoughts and, finally, sighing as he gave up. “I wished to ask your opinion on a matter regarding miss Amber, and… Waited, until after classes ended and evening fell, to come and see you.”

“Well.” She blinked, chewing a lip for a second before finally nodding and stepping back, “Come in then, I suppose. I meant to call you over about a field trip for the combat course students in any event, so we can get some good work done.”

“Thank you, Headmistress.” She nodded and he stepped past, lumbering into her home for the second time in less than a day. A scandal in the making, or one already extant as far as the student body at large were likely concerned, he was sure. Turning to her, he spoke to the woman as she moved to her room, drawing the curtain to change out of her uniform as he spoke, “I am sorry to bother you at dinner time, Headmistress. Truly.”

“Nonsense. I already explained that I enjoyed the company. And Brother’s sake, sit down and stop standing there, you’re making me anxious.” She responded, amidst the shuffling of fabric and shuffling of feet along the floor while she changed. “And if you know how, switch on the oven to four hundred degrees. It needs to preheat.”

“As you wish, Glynda.” Turning, he trundled into the kitchen and clicked the little knob before taking a seat on the same chair he’d occupied before and waiting for her patiently. 

“Now then, now that I am more comfortable, we can talk.” She sighed, her curtain pulling back on its own as she stepped through, both hands in her hair, working the long locks into a bun. She made her way into the kitchen, flicking a hand at the freezer and tossing the door open with her Semblance before using the same to pull a box from the freezer. “I’ll set the pizzas to bake, you talk. Alright?”

“Very well.” The Undead rumbled and then grimaced before stating as simply as he could manage, “I believe I have found Amber’s assailant.”

“Where?” The word was tight and sharp, the boxes of ‘pizza’ slamming down onto the stove top suddenly. Surprised, he looked at her and, sheepishly, she smiled apologetically and leaned against the counter, “I’m sorry, Deacon, that was just… Well, abrupt, I suppose is the least I could say.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She assured him, before repeating her question, “Where did you see her? In Vale?”

“I didn’t meet her in town.” He waved the thought off with a sour gesture, letting his massive hand thump against the sturdy wood of the table. “No, no, I’ve not had the pleasure of exploring the town as yet.”

“A shame, that. One of these days, I’ll take you myself, when I go in to file paperwork with the Council for funding maybe.” She shook her head like she was disappointed and then turned to him, eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side in suspicion and tension. Like a cat ready to strike at something appetizing. “If you didn’t see her in Vale, then… Here?”

“Indeed.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to say something and he spoke ahead of her, “Ozpin knows and is looking into what to do. She, by all accounts, doesn’t know that I know. And if she is here, we know where she is. What she wants.”

“And we can find out who all is involved, because Ozpin never makes it simple. Which means he wants patience instead of intervention against a known threat, because of course he does.” Glynda growled, shaking her head and turning back to the oven to start opening the boxes.

That she did so with a few metrics more violence than needed, he would never say to her face. Though he felt some pity for the poor, boxed food. 

“That is why I came to you. For advice.” He started, the woman turning a bright eye on him over her shoulder for a second before going back to work on the food. “The Headmaster, he believes that… That patience will gain us more than justice immediate, in this endeavor. That we can entrap others in the circles of our enemies.”

“And you?”

“I believe justice delayed is justice betrayed, in all things.” An old teaching, but one that he clung to regardless. With a grimace, he was forced to admit, though it pained him so, “But I also do not know if in pursuing immediate justice for her attack, I will be preventing further rightings of wrongs.”

“And you need advice on what to do about it.” He nodded and she sighed, remarking, “You know, typically, the most staff advisement I do is telling Bartholomew to slow down on the coffee. Or telling Port that Behemoths aren’t mounts to ride.”

“If I am putting you out, I-”

“You’re not, I’m not bothered by you asking. Particularly since you’re doing it instead of rushing into things.” She assured him, bending down to shove the pizzas into the oven. As she stood, she smoothed out her long, black gown and joined him at the table. “Whoever could defeat Amber would have either been incredibly powerful, made an unbreakable trap, or had assistance.”

“Her team?” He guessed, wishing he had more than a base guess. 

“Perhaps. Or maybe Hazel or Watts, you and Qrow encountered them so we know they’ve at least been in the region.” She shrugged, flicking a hand and summoning a bottle of water from the counter. “It’s completely possible that they supported her, or her team did, or some combination of the two. Assuming she didn’t simply overpower her directly.”

“I know not how powerful a Maiden is, so I know not how powerful Miss Fall is either.”

“Wait, her name is Fall?” She asked, the Undead nodding slightly at the question. The blonde woman snorted in amusement, shaking her head as she went on, “Well, I suppose we have an assassin with a strong sense of irony here. Wonderful.”

“Indeed, it does seem thusly.” And in a distant, detached way, looking at the situation at hand, he could see the humor of it all. One such as he, through as much as he’d been through, he had to be able to see the humor in things. “That doesn’t tell me what to do, however.”

“I believe that Ozpin’s decision is best, for now.” He grimaced and she rushed to add, “He’s never steered us wrong in the past, and I think it wise to listen to him. He is, after all, Headmaster and our leader for a reason.”

“It is as you say, Headmistress. I merely wanted your words on the matter, before I made my decision, as weighted in the decision you came to as it was.” He sighed, content now that another had corroborated the Headmaster’s choice, and, wishing to move on, asked, “You wished to speak of a trip in a field?”

“A trip in a…” She laughed, a bright, bell like sound, and shook her head. “No, no… I will have to explain a field trip to you, I suppose. Which is fine.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“This is a terrible idea, Deacon.” Miss Goodwitch said the next day, rolling her riding crop between her thumb and forefinger idly, the weaponized thing periodically alternating between a simple black and a sparking violet. Around them, the wind blew and shuffled leaves, the first years arrayed around them in a loose, distant circle. “Teachers are normally not meant to spar, at least in public. Sets a bad example for the students.”

“I respectfully disagree, Headmistress.” The armored goliath grunted, letting his heavy shield slam into the dirt beside him for emphasis and waving his greatsword around him, at the students sitting and watching them. “How many of these have seen warriors of our caliber do true battle? I say a show of the end goal is a grand motivator.”

“I could hurt you, you know.” She warned, smirking slightly in a show of her lack of real concern in that direction. Hard to fear wounding someone who could heal instantly from most wounds, and couldn’t truly die in any event. “I have an Aura to block any hits you somehow, miraculously manage to land, you know.”

“And I’ve armor, and my own durability as an aside.” And his healing abilities as well, though he wisely left those out of mentioning. Along with, he knew, a lot of his more powerful abilities that creed and code both forbade using in a friendly spar, thus disadvantaging him somewhat. Not that he was unused to being at a disadvantage, of course. “And isn’t the purpose of a trip to the fields to grant experience to young hopefuls?”

His eyes landed on, behind the Headmistress and leaning against a tree with a small smile, the half-Maiden, Cinder Fall. Behind her, seemingly napping, was the male of the team, Black, and beside her on the other side of the tree, trying to pose and emulate the woman, was Sustrai. The fourth member, Noir, was nowhere to be seen, but such was apparently quite commonplace. The smallest of the group tended to wander, it seemed, and pop up when she was needed or when something ‘interesting’ happened. 

Were they involved with the woman directly? Sustrai, Black and Noir seemed young and innocent when you looked at them, though the latter had a mischievous streak that would have made Griggs blush like an innocent maiden.

But there was no way to tell. And if it came to blows against her, if Fall made an attempt on Amber’s remaining life, he’d be the wall to stand against her. But would it be her, or her team that he had to fight against? Millenia of fight brought two things; lessons and scars. And both told him that, in any fight, knowledge was the key to success. Knowing your opponent’s style and abilities spelled success or defeat, a fact written in the scars on his flesh and arms both, as well as in more blood than he cared to admit, like ink on parchment stretching back through history.

“Let’s give them a show, Headmistress.” The students and his opponents both so that, hopefully, both situations would benefit. The students would learn, and his adversaries, ignorant of that relationship as they may be, would know not to trifle with him or his. Greatsword resting across broad shoulders and shield held before him, like a wall of iron, he added challengingly, “Whenever you are ready, Headmistress. Let me know when you wish to yield.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” The other woman said with a roll of her eyes, turning her body so only the right side faced him. Back straight and crop held out like a blade, her other hand held across her breast and up towards her shoulder protectively, she called out, “Miss Scarlatina, if you would be so kind?”

“A-Ah!” From the corner of his sight, impaired as it was by the visor of his helmet, he saw the small woman stand and brush herself off anxiously. “U-Um, well, you look like you’re ten feet apart, so that’s good. Just, um, begin?”

It was awkward to be sure, but neither fighter used that as an excuse to avoid the spar. Likely because, he was sure, both were looking forward to it. Though that didn’t mean they rushed into a conflict, either, both of them too experienced and intelligent to do so. Instead began the game of watching each other and thinking. 

With a flourish of her free arm behind her and a spin, purple Aura sparking electric along her arms as she did, she swept the riding crop in between them. Rocks, stones, loose dirt and whatever else spanned between them that didn’t need to be broken up to move shot into the air, swirling like a swarm of insects in a wall between them, purple Aura sparking intermittently from the pieces when they touched each other. A wall that very swiftly coalesced and shifted shape, from a shield ten feet wide into a ball the a fifth of the size and dense enough he couldn’t see through it. Like a blast of fire from a Pyromancer, it shot towards him, and he braced against its incoming, potentially monstrous, impact. 

At the last second, though, it dove into the ground before him and exploded, sending a shower of soil, stone, sticks and whatever else flying into the air in front of him and showering down around him. Then, with a mighty and unexpected force, his shield yanked away from him and twisted in his grip. Caught off guard, and queally caught between releasing his defence or losing his fingers and that defence, he let the iron wall go. It spun through the air towards the woman, scything through the falling soil and rocks both and sending it spinning away from him. As it thudded along the ground towards the students, the Headmistress flicked her hand again, the weapon slamming down into the ground abruptly before she turned back to him.

And, of course, she grinned widely at the early win in the fight, sliding back into her previous stance languidly. Sword held across his shoulders, he quirked his head to the side in amusement for a second before bringing his other hand to the pommel and pulling a leg back purposefully.

Then, he leapt, soaring through the air on muscles a hundred times more powerful than a normal man could possibly match. And likely as surprising to the Headmistress as that, given the suddenly wide eyes she looked at him with, in the scant seconds before he land before her, sword held high to bring down on her shoulder. Purple lightning sparked along the blade as it fell, though, her riding crop flicking meaningfully with it. Her Semblance turned his strike aside, something a thousand shields had failed to do, but only by inches. 

The force of the blow, though, still resounded true, blowing the woman aside and sending her sprawling across the ground a half-foot away. She rolled onto her back and flicked her riding crop, the dirt under her wrenching up in a spray of grass, soil and rock that showered over her and turned her from crisp and clean to dirty, hair falling loose and sharp eyes watching him like a predator as she stood. Now the soil and rock had done its job, she flicked the crop towards him and the materials shot into the air, pelting him like hail with hurricane force behind it. 

It bruised and dinged off the metal shell around him but he didn’t care, bringing his left hand up to shield his face from the dirt before it got into his eyes. One handed but powerful nonetheless, he swung wide and horizontally, the woman sparking purple as she leapt over it easily, like she’d been doing it for years. Taking a step forward when she landed, he raised the blade overhead and brought it down, aiming to catch her or at least send her reeling from another forceful blow. 

Instead, she dipped forward, like a woman made liquid sliding past him faster than he could follow, under his swing and around him where he couldn’t see her. Sensing her behind him he made to turn, bringing his sword around in a strike to ward her off. But instead he met the invisible hand of her Semblance, seizing around the crossguard and his wrist both. Then her heel bit into the back of his knee, force augmented by her Semblance, and drove him to a kneeling position, arm caught at an awkward angle where it had been caught.

For the first time in centuries, he smiled behind his visor and, against the woman’s heel on his knee and Semblance on his weapon, forced himself up, turning and fighting through her own strength by force of will. The woman behind him scowled, teeth bared and brow dripping sweat, as she tried to fight him. 

Before, finally, her body flickered and the strength vanished, armored gauntlet crashing into her. Her arms snapped between them to protect herself from the blow and he pulled back as best he could, but the sheer force of his body was unstoppable, and enough strength to crush stone crashed into her. 

With a cry of pain and shock, she went flying high through the air, arms limp and Aura sparking off her as she went. 

“Glynda!” He shouted, dropping his weapon and rushing towards her in great, four foot strides that were themselves as much leaps as steps. Kneeling b her side, he held her up while she grunted and grimaced, arms blue on the outsides and one hanging broken across her stomach. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just feel a bit stupid right now.” She grunted through gritted teeth, smiling up at him regardless. “Maybe trying to pin you was a bad idea, hmm?”

“Indeed, do not try it again.” He said forcefully, gripping her wrist while students huddle around them to get a look. Not close enough that they were breathing down his neck or crowding them, they had all been taught enough to know better than that given their line of work. “I must straighten the limb before I can heal it.”

“And it will hurt, I am aware.” He nodded and the woman turned her attention to the students around them, “I had better not hear any of you repeat the words you’re about to hear me say. Understood?” They all murmured their assent and she gave him a curt nod, “Do it. And quickly.”

“As you say, Headmistress.” He rumbled, tugging the limb straight as gently and quickly as he could manage, wrist pinched between his thumb and forefinger while he turned it to lay properly in her lap.

“Son of a bitch.” She snarled, throwing her head back and grabbing a fistful of the grass beside her. Hissing through her teeth she rushed to add, “Fucking heal it already, please, Deacon.”

“Upon the knight of the sun lord a thousand blades did fall.” He started, laying a hand on the woman’s chest and closing his eyes, to focus on the Miracle and send the power straight into her. “Cuts and bones were broken all. And his name, the Sun Maiden did say, and with her touch his broken bones were mended and wounds sewn shut as though they’d happened not at all. And once more, the warrior of the Sun stood tall. Every inch now Healed, one and all.”

The blast of wind was a gale, though short lived, and with it came the shimmer of bright, stark sunlight and the chime of holy bells. The purple bruising faded and the bones mended under flesh renewed, the woman relaxing as the Miracle did its work. Finally he helped her stand and stepped away, bowing his head in apology.

“Amazing.” A voice beside him chimed in, sounding unconcerned for the formerly wounded woman entirely. He turned, looking down on Cinder Fall, and she smiled up at him, “What an impressive Semblance… Ah, but you lack Aura, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then what,” she purred meaningfully, eyes glowing and a brow rising challengingly towards her hairline, “was that, I wonder?”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

So lower content chapter again, sorry. Been doing a lot this week on other stories and Re:Programmed, plus I needed to set up a couple of things ahead of the next main arc of the story because I, er… Did a dumb and forgot to before now.

My bad. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Darkon 52 :

Not just yet, though you see the pieces moving, I hope.

The Masked Swordsman :

Glad you enjoyed it, b0ss

Kifo Sotri :

Glad you enjoyed it, but ah, Ozpin has prevented the fight for a plan he has. I’m sure nothing bad whatsoever will come of that. 

Passive Nox :

Immediate discovery. XD

Turkish DS Fan :

The Warriors of Sunlight will get more exposure soon, but I didn’t want the story to seem a vehicle for my headcanon of Souls. Rest assured that, as we head through the Vytal Festival, more will be revealed. 

Rocketmce :

He only went through DS1. As for other things being integrated… i have a couple ideas, but don’t know for sure if anything useful is there. 

The Abyss Watcher :

Jaune is, to me, a great character. But I use him alot, and wished to experiment with others. Glad you’re enjoying the story~!

The Witch King :

The misspellings and missing characters are a mistake, yeah, but the repetition isn’t. Not usually, at least. I make an effort for my characters to be Human as possible, and repeating yourself is a very human thing to do. So *usually* it’s on purpose.


	15. Chapter 15

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“This is the place, then.” Priscila said quietly, when the Undead’s eyes cracked open, blinking in confusion at the halfbreed walking before him. The ash and smoke of the Kiln puffed into the air as she made her way, drifting behind her like the snow they’d once walked through together. Standing over the smolders of the First Flame, a hand held above it in cruel, frigid pantomime of kindling, she asked, “This is where you abandoned me, though you swore never to. Is it not?”

“I had a duty.” He rasped, voice feeling dryer than ever before. As though he yet burned in the Flame that they stood within, throat turned to little more than cinders. “For the world. For my comrades. For you.”

“I needed you, Deacon.” She countered sharply, hard ices like shards of malice filled ice turning on him suddenly. “I needed my companion in my frigid hell of a prison. My friend, and you chose to abandon me. Without so much as a word.”

“Had I left, I never would have returned.” He answered quietly, struggling against what felt as chains, binding him to the floor and wall. Chains he could not break, made of gnarled, soot-laden chains that spanned around him. Like a spider’s web, he noted dryly, and he the fly trapped within it. “I would not have been able to tell you, to see your tears and sorrow, and still saved you and the world as one.”

“Oh, you saved me, did you?” She asked, smile more cruel than he had ever imagined she could make. A form once grace, a woman as though carved from sheer kindness and heart, now twisted by hatred. She strode to him, each step oozing rage and pain in equal parts, and lashed out, fingers wrapped around his throat, “No, you did not save me. You abandoned me, Deacon. Left me to a crumbling, wintry prison, to languish in pain.”

“I did not- Ack!”

“You did! Do not deny it to my face, when you could not warn me of it to it.” She snarled, pressing her face so close to his that, once upon a time, she’d have flushed and stammered, backing away nervously. “How long, do you think, I waited for you? How long until I realized?”

“I had no choice.”

“There is, always and in everything, a choice, Deacon.” She countered easily, fingers crushing around his throat and, slowly, choking the life out of him. “You chose abandonment. You chose to burn.” Behind her, the Kiln flickered and fire crawled towards them, and Priscilla’s glare stared into his eyes, “So burn.”

Inside this sacred place, those eyes somehow burned him ever more than the fire could. Fury and betrayal as kindling, the Fire scorched across him, her raw pain feeding it. So much pain, so much fury, that as the Fire claimed him, he cried out. Not in pain from the fires turning his flesh to ash and bone to charcoal, but in grief and sorrow for the woman betrayed so completely.

It mattered not.

They both burned all the same.

Again he awoke with a shudder, skin slick with sweat and the sun only just gracing his dwelling with its bright light. Yet, for once when he looked outside, he felt no warmth looking out on the city, glinting in early morning light like a thousand and one rainbows, fractaling miraculously before him like a gods given salve for his wounds. Wounds that did not quell under the tender treatment of the Sun and its wonders, for the first time in an eternity, or even in a dozen of them. All he could see were those broken, icy eyes, boring into his own with fury and broken pain. A thousand glinting rainbows, a thousand sets of sad eyes, begging him and accusing him in equal part. He could not help himself…

He turned aside, away from the light.

Away from those eyes.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“It is about relaxation. Attuning yourself to the world around you and, for a time, ignoring that which ails you, or confessing it to a trusted comrade.” He explained, weeks after his spar with Miss Goodwitch. Weeks full of lessons, training, prayers, teacher meetings he dreaded, and the Headmistress glaring daggers if he so much as breathed an apology in her direction for her wounds. “Find that in the place around you which most pleases you, and simply dwell on it.”

“I just…” The young man waved a hand at the forest, stretching out before them from the base of a cliff like a sea of reds, greens and oranges as the season turned. “I just sit, and look at it?”

“Yes.” He answered simply, kneeling on his circle as always and watching the young Cardin, seated nearer the cliff with his back against a tree. “Sit, enjoy the view, relax, contemplate your troubles and your good fortune both, and if you wish it, speak of whatever you like to me. Or to the forest, if you prefer. Letting the tension out is, after all, quite a remedy unto itself for relieving it.”

Almost a quarter of an hour passed in silence, aside from birdsong scattered among the trees, wind whistling up the cliff face and between the sharp rocks along the way, and leaves rustling around them in the same wind, gentler now to match the gentler recipient of its graces. The peace around them quieted them both, even if the Undead himself was still somewhat troubled from the night’s latest, torturous visions. But, as though to counter his own troubles, the young man seemed to relax against the tree quickly, watching birds fly through the air, flurries of leaves, like miniature tornadoes and storms, fly into the distant sky over the canopies and scatter. Together, they observed a tree, apparently ancient and withering by nature’s hand, suddenly shift and fall, sending a tempest of bright leaves flying into the air among birds scattering away in sudden, instinctive flight. 

Beauty abounded, and it soothed both their worries in equal measure, even if their worries were, themselves, not in equal measure. 

“Me and the guys… Have been arguing, alot, lately.” Winchester finally spoke, after the tree had fallen. Almost as though the forest itself had prompted him to do so and, for all the Undead knew of the man’s love of nature, it was likely the case. “I won’t let ‘em cut the shit the way they want to, and they don’t like the reason why.”

“That being?” He asked, as much to gauge the young man as his teammates. 

“That we don’t need to go around pissin’ off people that we might need to save our sorry asses if the fire gets too hot.” He answered simply, not even turning to look at the Undead as he did. He shrugged without looking back at the Undead still and sighed, “They, uh, they kinda don’t agree. They don’t think animals can help us, anyways.”

“Winchester…” He rumbled a warning and the man waved a hand over his shoulder in response. 

“Yeah, yeah, I… Frickin’ know, okay? I know you don’t like me callin’ ‘em that, but let me be shitty right now. Okay?” He growled, though this time he turned to the Undead with his question. “What am I supposed to do about them? My team’s falling apart, because I’m trying to do what you said to do.”

“Give them a different thing to focus their attention on.” He shrugged simply, the young man seeming more or less disatisfied with the answer, to say the least. “My guidance ended with my advice to you to abandon your bigotry, lest it come behind you as a rogue with a dagger, poised to tear your throat free.”

“So that’s all you have?”

“Yes, I am afraid to say.” He answered solemnly, taking a deep breath and sighing it out gently. “I have nothing more to offer your life’s more intricate measures, lest I live it for you and through you. You know what you must do, but how you do it is up to you.”

“That’s just perfect.” The young Hunter-to-be snapped, turning to look at the forest again in agitation, thumb working hard circles on the side of his hand until, finally, he stood with a grunt. Brushing the dirt and grass off his pants he sigehd, “I’m headin’ back, mission signups should be starting soon. The guys will be pissed if I miss out on a good job because I was out here staring at the damn woods.”

He considered doing his job, scolding the young man for his swearing and the like, but eventually just nodded. “Good luck, on your job, young Winchester.” He raised a hand and added in a low, warning voice, “Don’t forget my warning, young Winchester. If you don’t forget it, then I foresee a great future ahead of you.”

“You always sound like something out of a movie…” The man sighed, walking past him before the Undead could answer. Soon enough, he sensed the man leave his range of sensation, fading away into the distance like a ship disappearing over the horizon. 

“Your faith is always rewarded, old knight… Ever and always, and in all things, your faith has been well placed.” He murmured to himself, finally standing and stretching towards the sky in a praise to the sun itself before relenting and turning to look towards Beacon. “He will find his own way, now that he feels free to enjoy what brings him joy and knows not to give into his prejudices.”

Or at least, the Undead hoped those lessons stood. He couldn't in good conscience, or without giving away the truth of his nature, offer any more of the guidance he could have. Teaching him his philosophies, his Miracles, and his tales would necessarily mean teaching him about his past… Something which would, as likely an event as to be a fact of the future, spell doom for the young Hunter, the Undead, or a litany of far worse options that he would not and could not risk. Not for the fate of four boys, at the least, though his heart ached at that idea even as he had reconciled to it.

Such were the burdens on the shoulders of one such as himself, to need to decide how to face fates he could not sway beyond picking which he would suffer.

Which of course turned his thoughts to Amber, and to her assailant, Cinder Fall. An assumed name, Qrow had said when they last spoke in passing, the man on his way to a mission that would have him away for weeks yet. As though such a fateful name as Fall would just so happen to befall the woman who would one day seek to steal the powers of a Maiden of Fall, all by mere chance. He was not a fool, nor was he blind, so such an obvious set of facts were well within his faculties to understand well on his own. 

And Ozpin wished him to stay his hand…

“It is not your Academy, or your duties, that Ozpin acts in the aid of.” He reminded himself with a sigh, turning to head towards Beacon. “You aid him, not the other way around, in these ventures. Do not get ahead of yourself.”

Even if the entire situation reeked of a poor decision, it was not his decision to make.

At the sound of a gentle, quiet buzzing, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his Scroll, flicking it open with a more practiced ease than he had weeks prior and opening the messengers. Beside Glynda’s face, a little bubble appeared, and he pressed his pinky to it, the only digit small enough to suffice, to open the ‘chat’, “Time for staff meeting. Room 203. Know the way?”

“Yes.” He sent back slowly, “I am at my cliff. I will come soon. Might be late. Apologies.”

“It’s fine if you are.” She assured him quickly, quicker than he’d expected frankly, as he began to quickly walk towards the Academy. “Mostly handling mission assignments. Students need staff with them. First years at least. You would want one that involves fighting Grimm. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will find one suited to you. See you soon.” She promised, and he nodded at that. After a moment of waiting as he walked, in case she sent another message, he returned the little, metal thing to a pocket in his little coat. 

Now, hopefully, he could actually find the place in a timely enough manner.

“A simple enough job, leading a team on a scouting expedition.” She explained once the meeting had ended, the woman having skipped him in the roll call of assignments. Presumably so she could do as she was now, and give him his personally. The room itself was simple as well, nothing but white walls, grey carpet, and sparking rectangular lights overhead. “This team has a member of particular interest to the Headmaster, and our… Current problems.”

“I see.” He rumbled solemnly, knowing that the underhanded tactics were as unsavory as they were needed. An unfortunate fact, to be sure, but one regardless as far as he was able to tell. “And I suppose I am to ensure this woman’s survival?”

“Her team’s survival is paramount, yes.” Glynda corrected him, adding emphasis to the ‘team’ part of the statement for purpose. As though he would have doubted that, or ignored them in favor of her? Regardless of his internal musings, the woman continued, “We don’t wish to allow for any of them to come to harm, if we can help it. Moreso, even, than other students like them. A sad fact, but she’s needed for everyone’s good.”

“I understand.” He assured her, laying a mighty, massive paw on her shoulder and smiling, “I am, at the very least, an adept defender. “Which team am I to guard, then? And when?”

“Team JNPR.” She answered simply with a small smile, flicking a hand to summon a folder from the end of the long, simple table. She caught it easily and flicked it open with a thumb, leaning against the table as his arm dropped away. “Pyrrha Nikos is the woman we’re interested in, at the moment at least. Skilled, dutiful, loyal to her team and honorable enough even you would approve.”

“I do approve, Headmistress.” And he did, truly. She was as honorable as the Headmistress implied, and dutiful to her team’s needs as well. She’d make a skilled and dutiful Maiden as well, and her team would likely stand with her. Making her safer by far, to say the least, so long as the team held together. “Do you wish her trained as well? Or would you like me to simply watch over her, until she’s strong enough?”

“For now, no. She is simply to be protected on this mission, as things stand.” She answered simply, closing the folder, with a touch of agitation he hoped wasn’t pointed at him, and then offering it to him. He took it and, at her prompting, opened it to skim the details inside while she spoke, “The mission is a simple one, luckily, and this is only a… Small measure, to help everyone relax around the matter. Go to a village, patrol the forest, hunt for a moderate pack of Grimm menacing the area and eliminate them.”

“When do we depart?” He asked, closing the folder and tucking it into his jacket for safe keeping. 

“Tomorrow evening, early, closer to afternoon. The exact time in that window is up to you to determine, as is coordinating the students as their chaperone and guide through the matters at hand.” She smiled apologetically at that and, quieter almost as to be apologetic or even shy, if he were willing to accuse her of shyness in anything, added, “Will you be… Alright, handling that?”

“I believe so, yes, Headmistress.” He'd manage, at the very least, he was sure. He always did, in the end, and wouldn’t fail to do so here. She gave him a short glare and he smiled apologetically, “Glynda, I mean, of course.”

“Better.” She nodded with a small smile, one that quickly faded as she let her eyes close. Tired, she took a long breath and let it out in a quiet sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose, “Ozpin said to warn you that, if that woman is who you say, she may try something. If she serves our enemy, she may even try and attack Miss Nikos. Prevent her becoming the new Maiden.”

“Over my dishonored and desecrated corpse, that much is fact and faith sworn on my sword. You can place your trust in that.” He swore, voice low enough to nearly be a snarl. The blonde woman gave him a look, caught between surprise and worry, and he relaxed. Forced his fist to uncurl, as well. His poor sleep, he supposed, after a moment. “Forgive me. I only meant to say that I will defend her, and this place, with my everything.”

“I… See.” She seemed anxious still, but the emotion vanished before he could try and assuage it, however he hoped to manage that. Schooled quickly away, face replaced by the stern, flatter visage she normally wore. “Very well, then. I will leave it to you, and ask that you please be careful out there. You’re nigh immortal, I know, but where there is a possibility there is a risk. And we can’t afford to lose someone as powerful as you.”

“My power is devoted to the protection of those behind me and under me, who need it more than all.” He assured her gently as he turned for the door, adding in an equally gentle tone, “It does not, however, belong to Ozpin. Even as I fight for him and protect his goals, I am sworn to no one as of yet.”

“I know.” She nodded and, hoping she understood his mentioning it, he nodded simply. 

“Good day, Glynda. I’ve work to see to, after all, and wards to prepare to… Chaperone.” He nodded one last time and turned away, heading out of the door he’d come in through to make arrangements and find his charges. 

It would be good to fight, and protect, again. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I saw her bones break, Ma’am. His strength is unimaginable, to simply force through a Semblance like Goodwitch’s.” Cinder finished, giving a small shake of her head she knew the Grimm Queen couldn’t see, their call connection an audio only one for security reasons. Reasons that were also why she called the ancient, deific being merely ‘ma’am’ as opposed to a more honorific title. “Then he went to her, took her in his arms, and… Said some words that sounded like a story of some kind, and she was healed. With a flash of light and chiming bells.”

“A Miracle, well and truly… My, but that is an interesting development.” The ancient woman offered simply, not bothering to fully explain what she meant on either end of the sentence. “And Tyrian found the Kiln, as well, in the deserts of Vacuo. Half buried by a sandstorm, but something clearly emerged from there.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what these things are.” Cinder interrupted, anxious about the chance she’d anger the old goddess, but knowing she needed to know. Or else her likelihood of failing the woman, and thus suffering her wrath, would only increase. 

“A Miracle is a very, very old type of magic. One a thousand times and more older than I myself am, in fact.” That was… Old, to undersell the point entirely and do it no justice whatsoever, and enough to nearly stun the Half-Maiden where she sat, alone on her bed in her dorm. “The Kiln is the seat of life’s third resurgence on this world, though I know little beyond that and what could have emerged from it beyond the vague name ‘Undead’. Written in an old book, copied a thousand times by the time I discovered it in my youth.”

“Undead?” As in… A zombie? A vampire? She couldn’t do more than hazard guesses, truly, and those were likely to be untrue. “Do you… Know what that is? If it’s important for me to know, I mean.”

“I’ve an artifact, older than anything else I know of from my… From a man I’d known’s collection, from long ago. The artifact is said to be able to permanently kill Undead, according to the woman who owned it previous.” The woman explained, sounding frustrated. At lacking the knowledge or Cinder’s questions, the Half-Maiden couldn’t begin to hazard a guess, though she hoped for the former. For purely selfish reasons, of course. “Beyond that? I only know what a woman I encountered said of them. Fast, strong, incredibly durable, and sure to rise again no matter what manner of death befalls them.”

“I can beat him, I just need time for a plan to do so.” She assured the ancient, eldritch woman firmly. “Between Emerald’s illusions and my Maiden power, he won’t be able to-”

“You will not!” She snapped hotly, Cinder flinching and, even though her rational mind knew she could not do so, bracing against the deified being’s reproaching strike. “You are not to face him alone, even with your children. He is, almost certainly, too powerful for you all to face.”

“Then what do you order, Ma’am?” She asked quietly, wary of angering her again and incensed by the fear she felt tremoring through her. 

“Hazel and Tyrian both are coming to you, and your attack on the tower will be supported by them.” She explained simply, the scowl she no doubt wore infecting her voice with anger and bitterness as she spoke. “They will seek him out and face him down during the battle itself, preferably with the help of your bullheaded servant.”

“Adam won’t like that at all, when I tell him about it.” She pointed out as softly as she could, “He wants to hunt down the Belladonna girl in the middle of the same attack. “He cooperates actively with us because I promised him that reward, in the end of things. If I take that way now, I fear we’ll lose his cooperation, and we need the White Fang to stage the attack at all.”

“Then your children will support Tyrian and Hazel instead.” She amended simply, the Half-Maiden more than grateful for the rapid change of mind. An ancient mind in fiction was oft slow to change, but Cinder knew better. So much experience bred patience and adaptability, not stubbornness. “Between the four, they should at least be able to slow him down. Maybe even kill him, as temporary as killing an Undead is supposed to be. This will prevent him interrupting your attack on the Maiden, after which you are all to flee, if he is still standing.”

“Flee?”

“Yes.” She answered simply, the fire wielding woman blinking in surprise at the frankness with which she ordered her to tuck tail and run. “You especially, child. I won’t risk the loss of a power I have fought so hard, for so long, to find a way to control. Your success is centuries in the making, and I won’t risk it against some demi-god from my time’s ancient myths and legends.”

“As you wish, Ma’am.” Even if it chafed her, she’d do it. Salem’s punishments for disobedience would far exceed some disquiet about having to run away from a battle they’d gotten what they wanted out of. “Do you have any other orders?”

“Avoid him, going forward.” She said quietly, before ending the call with a simple, “That is all.”

Salem was afraid of this ‘Undead’ creature… So Cinder would have zero arguments with avoiding him going forward. Though it simultaneously called into question so many things about the ancient, demi-eldritch being’s origin, an origin she knew little about, she couldn’t bring herself to dwell on it very much.

More importantly was this creature, and how on Remnant she was meant to plan a way to beat it when it couldn’t even die right. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Next chapter, the Breach and the beginning of the Dance Arc. Which will, in fact, not be a dance arc. It will instead be a more stabby stabby arc, with a dance also there. Kind of like a background waifu, you know the type. Cute, fun when she’s center stage, but usually background decoration. And sorry if these last few chapters have been a bit on the meh side, I needed some moving pieces lined up before I could move things properly into the next set of events. And while I considered meandering through school life with our Undead friend, that particular rock can only have so much squeezed from it.

Not to say there won’t be events related, of course. Also, for the people who liked it, Cardin’s story isn’t done. Not quite, at least.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Monkey Man 369 :

Cinder was already interested by way of being ordered to be. Deacon wanted her to know what she was dealing with, though, in hopes it would prevent her attacking Beacon to get at Amber. 

Yes Boss :

Best case, it wouldn’t work. Worst case? It would have backlash, I would think. Try to heal with a Miracle and no Faith and the wounds worsen kind of situation. Also, it’s stated earlier, Deacon won’t activate his Aura for fear of what having multiple Souls inside him all lashing out would do, and what he saw when Humanity, which is raw inside him, is unleashed. 

475213 :

That… Would have been a better ending. XD


	16. Chapter 16

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He snarled as he snapped awake, hand lashing out in front of him as though to strike at something, covered in sweat once again. Inside ten seconds he calmed himself, heart slowing in his chest and muscles relaxing from a readiness to fight into simple anxious tenseness. A small difference, he knew, but a meaningful one regardless of how small it might be. His hand smoldered gently and he opened it, looking at his palm where the embers of his Flame had answered his instinctive, flailing call to battle as he jerked awake. The little thing looked a candle in his hands, flickering gently and lighting his skin and fingers warmly in a way that made him smile, memories of his old Pyromancy teachers coming back to him…

What was wrong with him?

His unease weighing on his mind, he let the flame return within himself - for it burned there, ever present, as a warm flame in his souls - and stood from the bed to pull on his heavy, cloth robes. Comfortable and warmed by the heavy clothing, made in the standard colors of Beacon of course as all things were, he moved to his stove to do the dishes he’d dirtied the night before on food he didn’t need to eat but oh so enjoyed. While he did that, he busied his mind with listening to the early morning news, a habit suggested to him by the good doctor that he found he rather enjoyed. 

Even if it was simply the weather and reports of more break ins, more robberies and terrorist attacks. 

It was like the world was at war with itself, and he couldn’t understand it. There was the obvious set of reasons, of course. The greed of some fed on the weaknesses of others, and they in turn sought out revenge. The Faunus, the Humans, the White Fang and the Schnee now as the faces of the problems. Both held claim in competing measure to a repetition of this cyclical destruction and meandering, lost pain. Like children, fumbling in the darkness for the light and smacking each other this way and that in their purposeless, lost struggle to assert themselves and survive.

“Maybe that is the source of my terrors?” Unsurety had, after all, always been his gravest weakness. Undead and Human both, he would freeze and tremble in fear if he didn’t have directions or directives to pursue. And while had his lessons and his books, and he had thought them enough... “Direction is what I need to quiet my mind.”

But what, he wondered?

“I shall have to persist until I learn.” He finally rumbled as he set water boiling for a morning tea and turned to his armor to get ready. “For now, I’ve battle to meet and innocents to protect behind my shield wall. A welcome distraction from my fleeting troubles and a worthy focus to accept.”

And perhaps, he decided, he had stayed over long in one place. Maybe he should have considered long ago seeking out a truer, more certain purpose than something as vague as ‘teaching’ to occupy his mind.

“No matter to be dealt with now, Deacon.” He rumbled to himself, more than used to speaking to no one else for stretches, while he held his helmet in his hands. Setting it aside, he started to get dressed, “I have time yet, and am due to speak to the headmistress once more before I leave.”

And for that meeting, he would not be late.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“The Bullhead will have supplies for any camping expedition you may need to lead while hunting the Grimm, and this card has Lien set aside for emergency needs. Food, water, wound treatment, or ammunitions for the students if need be.” The Headmistress explained quietly, holding out a small, red card with numbers on the front and a black stripe down one side. “It runs on credit, and while I would request you not over use it, you are free to do so as you wish. The Academy covers all charges.”

“In the same manner you take half the mission fee, hm, Headmistress?” She scowled and narrowed her eyes at him and he chuckled, raising a hand in surrender while the other took the little thing from her. “I jest, I jest, assuage your anger at me, Glynda. There was no fire to my words, I swear it.”

“I see.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t comment further, instead reaching for a scone on her dining table and continuing plainly, “Your mission, as you know, is Grimm extermination. You understand the risks involved there? To the students, I mean. The risks to you are, to say the least, not very great.”

“Truly, that is an undersold statement.” He smiled, accepting the scone she sent towards him with her Semblance without complaint. Taking a bite he hummed in thought, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, “You know, these are the first cherries I have tasted in likely a hundred thousand years… They have ever been my favorite.”

“Then please, enjoy as many as you like.” She smiled, waving hand at the half full plate of the simple, iced sweets. Thinking for a moment he finally conceded and reached over, mighty fingers stealing away another of the small, delectable triangle. “You know you can have them delivered? You more than have enough salary to have them brought in with supply deliveries each week.”

“I would, but such would be quite indulgent of me. Enjoying a wayward, offered treat is one thing. Reaching out to sate my wanton desires, though…” She nodded understandingly and, on the topic, he asked, “I had wondered, Headmistress, if I had to receive my salary.” 

“We… Are required to pay you, yes.” She answered with a thinly raised brow, head tilted ever so slightly in her typical half-questioning, half-chiding way she likely didn’t realize she did in the first place. “So you do have to receive your salary, Deacon. And once more, I say to use my name when we speak, please. I am more than my title.”

“Directly, I meant, Glynda.” He amended for her with a small, apologetic nod of his head. The woman returned with an understanding nod of her own, but waited for him to explain, and so he went on in a quiet, almost nervous voice. Unsure of how to explain his desire in a cogent way. “I just have so little need of so much Lien, you understand. And there are better causes out there than my larder and my accounts to fill.”

“I see. Might I suggest a charity, then?”

“I had considered that, yes, but know too little of this world’s social inventions to know which to make use of. Or how.” He shrugged, glad that the eyebrow that so nettled him so often had relaxed over her eye, the woman humming in thought. Anxious in the silence, he tore a piece of his scone free and spoke quietly, “There is much wrong in this world, and I would right it, where possible.”

“It would be a good purpose for the Lien, I suppose.” She admitted in thought, fingers of her off hand drumming idly while she did. 

“A good purpose… Indeed. Purpose.” The Headmistress blinked at the murmured words, the blonde woman giving him a look full of questions but not breathing one of them. “Merely thinking, Headmis- Glynda. Ignore me and please, do not allow me to distract you from your own thinking.”

Thinking that, perhaps, he had been wrong this morning. He did not need to wander aimlessly and fight for purpose, nor, even, to help people. An existence in charity was one that many Orders had pursued or allowed, knights supported by monks and craftsmen who worked merely for their food and to enable others to do what needed doing. A good life, denied to him due to what he was and, at the time, his prideful nature of old as a rather unfortunate aside.

Purpose. 

“Well, if you insist, then I certainly won’t pry.” She was far too respectful for that, a trait he truly did appreciate. “Now, for charity… Do you have a preference? Something you would like to do, or effect? You enjoy writing, so you could, for instance, support libraries throughout Vale as a sponsorship.”

“Perhaps, but… I feel that helping the Faunus would have the greatest effect, with the way that this world is.” She leaned back in her chair and nodded, waving for him to go on, and he explained, “Much of the conflict in this world is based upon something so vain and petty as species, and I view that as tragic. They are browbeaten and lash out, and thus comes so much suffering and loss. To mitigate that would, I feel, mitigate worse that comes from it as well.”

“The terrorism and crime, you mean, I suppose.” She guessed, the Undead nodding glumly at what he had learned of society’s foisted roles on the poor creatures. A vicious cycle where no one was the victor, even those who inflicted the harm in either direction. “I’ll have ideas when you get back, but for now, you need to head to the assembly area to meet with your students ahead of departure.”

“As I do, Headmistress Goodwitch.” Now, in a formal statement, she seemed fine enough with the honorific. Standing, he added, “Thank you for calling me over to explain the process properly to me. I know this is not the norm, and likely I missed out on it for my tardiness yesterday, so-”

“Think nothing of it, you have more than earned leniency. And you are helping a troubled student as well, so I feel no need to pressure a change from you.” She waved him off and added a quiet, smirking, “Shoo, now, Deacon. We’ve, both of us, work to be getting done throughout the day regardless of whether the students have a free day for mission assignments. No more time for chit chat and sweets.”

“You need to head into Vale, do you not?” He asked as he stood, picking the last third of a scone off of his plate and taking a large bite from it.

“Yes, on some errands for the Academy now that classes are out for the week. As good a time to catch up on the work that needs doing as any, really.” She answered, filling the void while he finished his food in the way people did. Seeking to fill silence instead of sit in it awkwardly while one of two chewed his food, feeling rushed to the finish and not enjoying his food.

A very Human practice, and after a mome he decided he rather appreciated the simple kindness of it.

“Have a good day with your errands, Glynda.” He finally nodded with a small smile, waving off an offered napkin and instead calling on the flames of Pyromancy that lived within him. The heatless flames scoured away the sticky sweet’s residuals and he smirked, the woman meeting the expression with her own. “Like your abilities, my own are… Rather convenient.”

“Quite.” She chuckled, giving a wry shake of her head and waving towards the door. “And a good Hunt to you, as well, Deacon.”

“I hope so.” The armored titan grunted, reaching to the table beside his plate and picking up his helmet.

Outside the housing units of Beacon Academy, the grounds were awash in vibrant colors. Students in their flamboyant, sometimes even garish, outfits milling about in groups of fours and eights talking anxiously and excitedly filled the hallways, concourses and avenues between the buildings. Even the teachers showed their vibrant, Hunter selves for all to see, ready to head off into battle with the latest wave of students - the main body, matter of fact, which scant few teams having left in the week before - meant for their first real field exercise in actual combat not restricted to monitored zones and friendly spars. Now, they would be on their own, with only a single teacher to gauge their abilities and support them, should the very worst come to face them.

Which meant that if one made a mistake large enough, they could end their careers. Or their lives. And from the anxious energy and hushed whispers, weapons being checked again and again, he could tell everyone around him knew that for a fact.

“Professor Knight.” He turned at the name, looking down slightly on the young, armored Winchester standing before him. The man stood with his mace across his shoulders, arms resting on it and hands hanging in a pantomime of crucifixion meant for comfort, and gave him a nervous look. The kind masked by a huff and glance away, looking at the others instead. “So. Think these schmucks are ready to get out there? See the real deal and fight some real Grimm.”

“I think the students are all ready to face the challenges coming against them, yes.” Including the young man, whose pride wouldn’t let him ask about his team. A second of thought passed before he turned to the young man and added in a low voice, “You will be fine as well. Keep your head cool, follow orders, and think clearly.”

“Y-Yeah, man.” The Hunter-in-training glanced him up and down and then sighed, adding in a lower, quieter tone. “I got it. The boys know to keep in line out there, and we, uh, we have a Human chaperone. So that won’t, you know, be a problem. Just some Grimm clearing along the base of the wall anyways, so not that big a deal.”

“Good.” He gave the young man a nod and turned, looking around them both for team JNPR. Which normally would have been easy, as distinctive as they were, but in such a colorful surrounding as this… It became difficult. “Good luck, young Winchester. Now pardon me, I must seek out my assigned team and meet with them.”

“Who is it?” He gave the young man a questioning look and he shrugged, the motion made stiff by the great mace stretched across his shoulders, and nodded towards his breastplate where his Scroll must have been. “What? My boys are scattered around here, hittin’ up chi- The ladies, I mean.” He amended when the Undead’s eyes snapped to him, coughing twice to clear his throat before continuing, “They’re talking to ladies around here, they might have seen them around here.”

“Then please, send them a message.” It could not hurt, after all. More eyes, and eyes that had been out here and likely already saw them all. “And thank you.”

“They’re back at the lockers, apparently. Dorkly had something up with his shield and went to get it fixed or something, so you should check there.” Cardin grunted and clicked the thing closed, sliding it into his breastplate once more and giving the Undead warrior a nod. Around them, a bell chimed, and the young warrior sighed. “Time for first wave to head out. See you when classes kick back in here in a few weeks, I guess.”

“Good Hunting, Mister Winchester.” The young man nodded at the polite words and the armored titan turned, headed back through the crowd and across the wide courtyard that Beacon stretched around. The students parted before him like water around a great, spiring rock, though after so long he noted that no one gave him the looks he had grown accustomed to.

He was old news, apparently. 

No matter, he had work to see to.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I will be there all the while, so if you need support do not hesitate to call out for me.” He finished, ten minutes of talking while the Bullhead was finished loading and the tired crew meandered away, JNPR and himself one of only a handful of student teams still in Vale. “My duty is to guard you, and I will not suffer any of you to fall under my watch. Nor will I cut your marks for knowing your limits.”

“We understand, Professor.” Miss Nikos said quickly, stepping forward to offer a simple and polite smile and nod, ever the picture of civility she was. “We will, of course, do our very best to fulfill our duties.”

“Yeah, everyone’s just… Anxious to get going.” Arc added awkwardly with a small smile, hand curling and uncurling around the pommel of his sword at his side anxiously. “Just want to do our jobs, help people, and get home. Uh, sir.”

“Very well, students. Very well indeed.” The hope was a good one, and though they were small and, from the two who hadn’t spoken yet especially, he could practically taste their anxiety, he knew they were ready enough for what was coming. “Very well, then, let us be gone. To battle and to-”

He turned with a start at a distant but remarkable whump sound, eyes scanning the city far and away from him worriedly, shield instinctively swinging in between himself and the explosion even as distant as it was. A plume of smoke, black and rich, spiraled into the sky quickly, twisting and turning into the air like a lazy snake. In the distance, on the other side of Vale and barely discernible beyond the glint and glare of the city, his sharp, Undead eyes saw a massive form he knew to be an Atlesian warship turn to lumber towards the city. Towards the smoke. Then came the gentle, muted by the great distance, whining of the city’s claxon in the area. A cry swiftly taken up by more alarms throughout the city district the smoke billowed from, until the entire district knew the threat facing them.

“Grimm… Grimm are in the city, somehow. Attacking.” Jaune said it for them all, stepping past him and away from the Bullhead while the crew watched anxiously, exhaustion gone under a wash of shocked adrenaline. The blonde turned to him and, silent and wondering what he would do, the Undead gave him a small nod. Turning, he called back to his team, “Get on the Bullhead, guys. We’re going to help Vale, we’ll… We’ll go help the village later on, once whatever this is blows over.”

“Or I shall do it in your stead.” He added, turning and lumbering past them up the ramp into the shuttle, “If you elect to stay, I will not judge you for-”

“We can be there in five minutes, Huntsmen.” The pilot cut him off, striding past him through the stocked craft to the cockpit with his copilot trailing behind, checking the straps rapidly in the way a practiced soldier did when needed to rush. The pilot called over the ship intercom a moment later, “Everyone get in, strap in, and hang on tight. Strongest people towards the front, keep the camping supplies still.”

“Nora, hold it down while we fly.” Jaune ordered quickly, the girl popping a ‘yep’ and running past him to sit beside it, strong arms bracing around the large crates of supplies warily. “Pyrrha, find some metal, use your Semblance to pin it in place if Nora can’t.”

“I understand, Jaune.” And the Mistralian was moving, weapons stowed and hands reaching out to pat every pieces of metal she could see, along the industrial netting and wherever else she could find it. “I’ve got it.”

“Sir, can you hold the other side?” The blonde asked, looking up at him with cool, icy blue eyes. Eyes that spoke of inexperience, fear, a sense of powerless anxiety… But also of knowing that none of that mattered, for he had a duty. “Nora’s strong, so is Pyr, but the less energy they have to spend on holding the stuff, the more they’ll have for the fight.”

Familiar eyes, familiar words…

“As you order, so it shall be, young ser.” He rumbled, laying his weapons on the floor of the shuttle for the blonde and the raven-haired Mistralian to hold for him, kneeling with arms wrapped in the straps of their seats and knees bearing down on the heavy weaponry. Joining the other tw he sank to a knee and reached around the crate, which contained the entirety of their camping supply, fingers punching into the thick wood easily and holding it firm. “Pilots, we are braced. Take us into battle, as glorious a steed as dragons regardless of whether this is a simple shuttle. May the Sun shine on us!”

“Uh, acknowledged, Professor. Taking off and heading into Vale, southern shopping district.” There was a pause as the shuttle lifted laboriously into the air, his own weight and the cargo likely slowing it down, and the ramp slid shut. Finally, the pilot spoke again, “Be advised, there is fighting in the area already. Hunter response, scattered by reports, and police presence working to contain the situation.”

“Understood.” Contain, not eliminate, he noted silently. So they didn’t have the forces to fend off whatever had come through. “Get us there, Pilot. I shall ensure we do far more than merely contain the threat.”

“Copy that.” The pilot answered, the rest of the short ride passing by in the semi-silence of soldiers checking their gear and the engine of the craft whining as it moved them to their destination. Finally, after minutes that felt as though stretched to eternity, the pilot snapped back over the communicator, “Entering contested airspace and turning for a drop. Be advised, I will not be able to land in the combat zone. The streets are full of combatants and Grimm. Means we’re making a combat drop and pulling out.”

“Got it.” Jaune was the one to answer, turning to his team and starting to rattle off commands, voice unwavering even as full of anxiety as it was. “Pyrrha, Nora, you two land first with me. Open up a pocket for Ren and the Professor to land, and keep the Grimm off the Bullhead.” Turning to him, the young man asked, “Does, uh, does that sound like a good plan, Professor Knight?”

“It does, though I would have preferred to be the first to land.” He’d need to rearm first, though, he knew. A few seconds of delay only, but enough that Grimm on the ground would swarm unless culled properly, which meant the children would need to serve as vanguard. The ramp began to lower behind them, the side doors unable to open safely in the midst of battle and with the cargo inside it, and the Undead nodded, “Go, boy. I will follow, and we will crush the Grimm together.”

The three melee fighters leapt without waiting for another word, dropping into the battle he could hear raging below while he reached for his shield and blade both to ready himself to enter the storm around them. A cacophony of screams, roars, the staccato drum of rifle fire and grenades exploding, lost amid the muted din of the sire’s cry of warning. A wasted cry now, he thought, with the forces already arraying in fighting lines in the southern shopping district to do the battle it cried for. Standing, he let himself bask begrudgingly in the familiar feeling of the battle around him, the sensation of life struggling to stay adrift in the ocean around it, and the sparks that winked out around him as the blackness overwhelmed them and they drowned. 

It enraged him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“To battle, wreathed in flame that may not be tamed.” He breathed the words, Pyromancy answering his call and crawling from his palm around the pommel of his weapon. Inside the time it took to join the young Mistralian at the top of the ramp, the great sword in his hand was consumed, burning like a torch in his hands as he rumbled, “Now, let us join the fray, Lie Ren.”

With a final roar he leapt into the air towards the wide courtyard the Grimm swarmed from, taking the scant seconds to look around as he fell. The courtyard was, thankfully, as empty as it was ruined now. Students in bright clothing fought in small clusters at the heads of streets, supported by police and military as they held the Grimm at bay. And admirably so as well, the sky was choked as much by smoke and ash as it was by the dissolution of the fallen Grimm at the heads of the streets. He recognized the students and teams - RWBY, CRDL, REVN and more - before he saw the ground rushing up to him. 

With a roar as much of pain as of fury, he slammed into the ground and his legs gave out, the ancient Undead slamming down onto his knees in the midst of Grimm a dozen yards ahead of the battle line that JNPR had formed. Rising, he grinned as the nearest Beowolf stood sluggishly, shaking off the stunning effect of his titanic entrance. It whimpered and turned to him, his sword caving down on it before it could even snarl, and he smiled. A dozen Grimm rose against him and a dozen more fell aside, cut in two, crushed under his boot, or batted aside by his shield in the brutal minutes that followed. An Alpha Beowolf leapt on his back, clawing at his armor desperately, before the rim of his shield struck its head, caving the skull in as the body listlessly fell to the side. 

“Enough.” He snarled under his breath, summoning more of his Pyromancy to himself as he turned, batting aside an Ursa that lumbered into his path as easily as he might bat aside a fly.

Finally, with a great roar, he raised his sword and slammed it home, sending a tidal mass of fire, concrete and broken Grimm hurtling back towards the tunnel entrance. Grimm trying to surface were burned, crushed, and even impaled as the oft-molten debris slammed into them and threw them back. Satisfied he rose and then, sensing movement, he spun to his left and brought his shield up between himself and the mighty maw of the Grimm that faced him down, Ursa snarling over the rim as he pressed against the Undead’s defence. 

Twice the size of any Ursa he’d seen and covered in spikes as long as his blade, the creature stood even beyond his considerable size, and for once seemed a match for his unaugmented strength. With a shout of defiance, and a rush of eager adrenaline, he brought his greatsword up, carving through the ground as it went and aiming to cleave away one of the monster’s arms. Instead, the monster brought its left paw in between the strike and itself, sacrificing a hand for its life and staggering away. Recovering and leaking miasmic, brackish smoke and blood, the Grimm gave a mighty roar and he braced himself to take the next attack and counter, knowing it would be the last.

Then a feather the size of his great, ancient sword shot from the side and impaled the monster to the ground, where it heaved and gasped before finally dying. 

“Ah. I see the cavalry has arrived...” He murmured as the blonde headmistress stormed past him, crop flicking and snapping the necks of Grimm as she went and an older team, CFVY, dropped down to join her. 

The first of the heavy reinforcements, it turned out. Atlesian military and a dozen higher class students arrived in the moments that followed, crushing the Grimm resistance while the Headmistress made her way to the breach. Aura wreathing her and sparking like dark lightning, she gave a grunt a dozen feet from him and planted her feet, arms spread before her. Rocks, dirt, cement slabs the size of Bullheads, all lifted into the air and listed through it towards the breach, more veteran students liberally applying automatic power to any Grimm that showed as the segments snapped back together. 

Finally, the hole was sealed, as though nothing had happened aside from crushed storefronts, blackened concrete and wafting smoke. And while around him the students and soldiers celebrated, or rushed to aid the fallen, he moved to join the woman.

“What happened here, Headmistress?” He asked quietly, standing beside her with his sword planted in the concrete ahead of him, palm resting atop the hilt comfortably. “For the Grimm to break into the center of the city…”

“I don’t know, Deacon. I truly do not know.” She admitted, turning to look at the train that had landed in the courtyard, two soldiers dragging a white-coated man from the ruined train. In a low, low voice, she added, “But let’s find out, shall we?”

“We shall.” He nodded solemnly, moving to follow her as she stomped through the courtyard to the sound of student’s cheers and whirring engines. 

This, he vowed, would not stand. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Look blondie, told you once, told you a thousand times.” Roman sighed theatrically, arms chained behind his back and legs chained against the legs of the chair under him in the otherwise bare room. “All I knew was what I needed to for the operation that the boss man came up with. And what’d happen if I fucked it up, somehow.”

“Yes, I have heard the same song enough times that I know the lyrics, Torchwick.” Glynda answered primly, standing across from the criminal with her back to Ozpin and the Undead both. “Now, perhaps, you could sing us the next lyric and tell us the name of the man who planned this… Operation.”

“Nope.” The man shrugged, as much as he could the way he was trussed up at least, with a little smirk. “Only thing you’re getting out of these lips is me asking when my lawyer will show up.”

“He’s likely delayed.” The woman answered demurely, “Perhaps something to do with the train laying across three streets, an avenue, and through a store.”

“Ah.” The man blinked and then snorted a laugh, giving a wry shake of his head and raising his brow mockingly, “Can’t be helped, then. Hey, you should try and make sure trains don’t end up on the road, Blondie. That can’t be good for pedestrian traffic. Or traffic.”

“That man…” His fingers curled at his side into fists, lightning dancing up his arms behind the thick, one way window he and Ozpin stood behind. The younger being turned to him, mouth parted slightly in worry, and he added, “How many people died today, Ozpin? How many lives cut short, that he snarks at like they don’t matter?”

“The casualties are low, but-” He turned a glare on Ozpin, ignoring the back and forth in the interview room, and the man held a hand up in defeat. “Forty five, all inside the square when the Breach occurred. A hundred more wounded among the civilian population, with more deaths and wounded among the police and military response forces.”

“I see.” He breathed in, then released the breath and fury with it. Turning, he took two long strides towards the door that connected the room and snarled, “This cannot stand. And his insults to the fallen must end, Ozpin.”

“They will, Deacon.” The man promised, sweeping around and in front of him before he could storm through the door and into the other room. Resting a hand on the door and holding another out towards him, the man went on, “Roman Torchwick is a known barb and scoundrel, he’s trying to instigate an altercation. If you go in there and threaten him, then he could walk away from this entirely.”

“How?” It was nonsense, to say the least.

“A trial of no confidence, or an accusation of coerced testimony, means nothing he says can be taken against him.” Ozpin explained, “And it could cast doubt on anything he says later that agrees with something taken under duress.”

“That is nonsense, Ozpin.” He grunted simply, stepping closer and forcing the man to press his back to the door to keep even the scant distance between them, looming over the man in his armor. Normally, he detested using his size so, but this Torchwick had him in a fouler mood even than he ought have expected. “What manner of justice system would ever allow a criminal to walk away after such a heinous crime?”

“A… Complicated one, but a better one than in the past.” The man sighed, meeting his eyes levelly in a way that surprised him. “You want justice for what happened, then stand down, Deacon. Let Miss Goodwitch speak to him, let her get what we can from him, and we’ll be able to prevent the next attack.”

“Hm.” He turned, looking at the criminal in the room as his irritation built. Finally, he relented and stepped away, offering a small, “Apologies, Headmaster. But my faith in your systems wanes.”

“Deacon, I-”

“We both know the woman behind this… Tragic madness.” He went on shortly, not allowing the man to speak. Reaching up, he removed his helmet and cast it aside, letting it thud onto the floor heavily. “Cinder Fall. You need evidence without coercion, and ask for my trust and faith while both wane. So offer it to me in turn. Allow me to speak to Roman Torchwick, and allow me to see if I can convince him to turn his coat.”

“I… Don’t think that is the wisest decision.” He bared his teeth at the statement, and Ozpin rushed to add, “For legal reasons, Deacon, I assure you. You aren’t allowed to speak to him, neither am I.”

“But she is?”

“Yes, Miss Goodwitch has legal training, meaning James can grant her interview rights on Beacon and Vale’s behalfs.” The silver-haired man explained simply, the Undead grunting at the information. “It’s her job, Deacon.”

“Hm.” It made sense, so he couldn’t argue against it… Not that that quelled his rising irritation in any real way, of course, the Undead goliath acknowledged as he turned. “Very well. I am going to return to Beacon, Headmaster, and meditate. I can feel my control slipping, at the moment. By your leave.”

“Of course…” 

He didn’t wait for anything further to be said, instead retrieving his helmet and leaving. He needed to get away, he knew, before he grew angrier. The loss of life had taken its toll, it seemed, and he was unused to being around the loss of so many innocents after so long. He would need to recenter himself and, next time, brace himself more than he had thought he’d need to today.

It was… Odd, though.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The Fluffy One :

But the Priscilla moments are good, I like them. XD

You’ll find out~

Above Average Joe :

Please understand I am not snarking, but consider that the ENTIRETY of the DS campaign is just the Chosen doing what he’s told. Go here, ring the Bells, go kill the Lords, do this, do that… He’s always following directions. Always being commanded. An honorable knight finding himself offered a home would be indebted and listen to his host, and Deacon is used to listening and accepting direction if he understands it and agrees with the desired outcome. 

SD Phantom :

Gib her snugs

Another STALKER :

More than mere cracks, I should think~


	17. Chapter 17

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

After the Breach, as it came to be called by media and historians, and the student-assignments that followed dealing with tht, two weeks passed before classes were to begin again. Two weeks in which all he had to do was meditate, write, occasionally spar if someone of the staff was willing, and garden. A habit he was happy to be able to pursue in relative peace and also surprised to be joined in by two students, and surprisingly not one of the drones planting crops ahead of the bulk of agriculturally inclined students returning to the Academy ahead of the temperate fall season, just warm enough for some hardier crops to be grown with the help of red Dust maintained ground lamps, heating the soil and air enough to let them survive all but near freezing temperatures. Potatoes, carrots and onions predominantly, not that students who enjoyed the gardening cared much for what was grown. 

Ah, the wonders of technology.

“So you… Don’t like carrots?” Cardin asked, kneeling on the ground with a wide sun hat on his head tied under his chin by a thin string. One arm was still bound in a cast, arm broken in the Breach and the reason he was still at Beacon while his team was out and about. “I just, you know, figured you would. I wouldn’t have asked you to do this with me if I thought you didn’t.”

“I eat plenty of them to keep my eyes good, like everyone else, but I don’t really like them particularly.” Velvet answered, kneeling and crawling in the dirt, dexterous fingers expertly finding and pinching away weeds and the seeds of them, then tearing them into shreds and spreading them around the young shoots of the actual crops. She shot him a grin and asked in a faux-chiding manner, “Lemme guess, ya cunt, it’s because I’m a rabbit Faunus, isn’t it?”

“I-I mean… Well, that is...” The injured young man stammered for a second and then looked to the overalled Undead for help, kneeling a yard away and tending to his own line of young stalks, dressed in the same manner as the two students, in heavy denim and a simple white shirt to protect them from the sun. “Professor?”

“Oh really, you’re going to hide behind the professor?” She snorted a laugh, ears twitching at disparate, distant noises over her head as she worked and teased. She gave the Winchester another grin and added, “Aren’t you a big, bad Huntsman? Why’re you hiding behind the Prof?” 

“Do not tease, Miss Scarlatina, for you know he is trying.” He chided gently, ignoring her swear entirely for the lack of heat he felt in it. And for the friendliness that seemed to be sparking to life between the two wounded warriors, the Faunus’ ribs having been cracked again in the fight at the Breach when a Boarbatusk caught her off guard. “And Mister Winchester, do not hide behind me. Outside a battlefield, I am not your shield, young man.”

The two chuckled but didn’t respond beyond that and, oddly, he found himself smiling as he worked. The peace that had settled after the Breach was… Nice, and felt a true enough peace to allow him to truly relax in it, though he knew the conflict abounding around the Academy. He knew Fall would return when the break of the same name ended, and that with her would come scheming and threat, and he knew that even now people were harmed by those with mal intent all throughout Vale. But he alone could not fix those systems, and instead set his sights on having fixed Winchester, and the life he could create in this field. 

If only more people were so simply and purely motivated, the world would be a kinder, more vibrant place, he was sure.

“Professor, you, uh, you in there?” He blinked owlishly and turned his head again to look at the two teens, Cardin now resting on his knees and looking at him with a confused, raised brow while Velvet’s ears turned to them both and she pretended to ignore it. “You spaced out for a few minutes there, Sir. Are you okay?”

“Merely distracted and enjoying the noon sun, Winchester.” He dismissed outwardly, inwardly chiding himself for the distraction. It was unlike him, he knew, to be distracted in this way as to miss someone speaking to him. “Forgive the lapse, I ask of you. What is it that you wished to speak to me about?”

“I was askin’ if you knew if the Beacon Ball was still going to happen.” He repeated, leaning back down to pull at some more of the stubby, young weeds. “Figured with, you know, the Breach and everything, and Atlas moving security in, it might get cancelled. Or stalled for later, maybe, or somethin’.”

“The Ball?” He hadn’t heard of it, at least not yet, but that didn’t provide an answer to the young man’s question. Standing, he wondered aloud, “What manner of ball? It has been some serious length of time since I attended a formal ball. Though, to your question, I have at the least not heard of it being cancelled.”

“Beacon hosts a yearly, formal ball at the start of the second semester.” Velvet was the one to answer his questions, asked and unasked both, sitting back to rest on her calves comfortably. It made sense that she’d know, given this was her second year, regardless of her injuries - old and newly reopened from a battle harder than she’d been allowed - keeping her relegated to Beacon’s grounds. “It’s annual, formal, not required, and when it coincides with the Vytal Festival, like this year, it gets a lot of foot traffic from the transfers.”

“Do staff get to attend?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, an eyebrow raised in surprised question. “Why do you ask?”

“I love a good ball.” It had been centuries since he’d been to his last, and he stood in excitement, handing his trowel off to Winchester. “I must polish my plate and chain, and my scabbard needs tending as well…”

“Uh, sir, are you going to-”

“Pardon me, children, I’ve much to do.” He said simply, turning to leave and almost running over a security drone behind him. A drone that looked up at him, whirred quietly, and held out a missive for him. He took it with an awkward, surprised murmur of, “Thank you…”

Then the machine turned and left and, with a shrug, he opened the little envelope. 

“Staff meeting in one hour, meeting room three-zero-two, to discuss the upcoming Beacon Ball and Vytal festival security measures.” Convenient timing, that, but if one spoke of the Dark the Dark would surely arrive, “Apologies for the lateness of the meeting scheduling. Recent security changes, to be covered in the meeting, stalled the meeting until now. Any who cannot attend for whatever reason will receive information and assignments at a later date.”

That explained much to him, he noted as he left, now to a more dutiful end than before, though one he equally enjoyed. Never a moment’s rest, it seemed, as there was always something to do.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“So,” Velvet started once the professor had left, turning a mischievous grin on the young man with her, whose hands paused in his work at the visage, “You think that he’ll ask Miss Goodwitch to the Ball?”

“I mean, maybe?” He shrugged, yanking a weed free and tossing it away without a care. Reaching for another and grinning, he went on quietly, almost wary of being heard by either of them in spite of how far away he knew they were. “Everyone says they’re dating, after all. You know how many afternoons he’s spent in her dorm? More than a few, I know that much.”

“Oh yeah.” She nodded, whistling and shaking her head wrly while she idly worked the plants and soil, crawling a foot forward to the next spot to render her care. “Somethin’ has gotta be goin’ down there, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, rumors have been saying that, too.” Cardin grunted, standing and stretching, popping his back with a hand on his hips. “Not sure about this ball thing, though. Might not go. Are you goin’?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on a few things, really.” She shrugged, the man’s brown eyes looking at her nonchalantly while he stood. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason.”

“You asked if it was still on, too.” She pointed out knowingly, grinning ear to ear in a way that, for a second time, had him pausing what he was doing. “And you asked me if Coco would be back in time for it, too. I wonder why that is.”

“N-No reason, just curious.”

“Mhm.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes, but let it go and elected to talk to Coco when she got back, if she did so in time for the dance. “Whatever you say, Winchester. You going to pick at the weeds or what?”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

It didn’t take long to find the meeting room, the Undead having thoroughly mentally mapped the place by now in the way he always did. The numbered rooms and doors were a mild challenge, as well as the more technological aspects of it - such as Scroll locks and the like on doors - but in time, and with concerted effort to each avenue one at a time, he had succeeded in the way he always had. By simply battering into the problem until he learned how to manage around it. A stubborn, boarish approach, but one that had worked in ventures from simple sparring and study all the way to felling gods and dragons, among other great wretches, so he felt justified in using it.

The meeting room was long, starkly lit by an overhead fluorescent, and spartanly decorated, at least insofar as any room at Beacon was spartanly decorated. It had the same dark carpet, warm brown walls and ceiling, and wooden panels around the windows and along the walls to highlight the corners pleasantly as any other room had. It even had bright green plants in the far corners, by the windows so they would receive sufficient light. The table was a simple, wooden affair, as were the comfortable seats.

In which sat the combat course main officials, Peter and Bartholomew who handled Grimm and historical studies as well as mission assignments, and Glynda. Whose own titles and duties seemed unending, but did, in fact, include observing spars and critiquing students on their combat abilities.

Somewhere in the list, at the least.

“Ah! Deacon, it’s wonderful to see you! Ah, was it ‘short evenings and long days to you’?” Oobleck was still worse for wear from the Breach, even with time and Aura based healing, and so he stood slower than normal from the long meeting table, a hand needed to brace him. His concern showed and the man waved it off, “I’m fine, or woon will be.” 

Not for the first time, he wished the wounds had been fresh enough for him to heal them, but using Miracles on old wounds was a risky venture. So the man was left to stand stiffly, though unbandaged and dressed normally. And in a good mood besides, though of course that was a foregone conclusion with the three new tomes he’d given him that morning before he left to garden. 

“Yes, though that is to be used by battle brothers, and though we are friends we are not sworn to each other.” Still, he didn’t rebuke the friendly mannerisms, and took the offered hand from the man to shake. Nor did he see fit to dwell on the man's injuries and insult him in doing so. “From you it would be ‘Warm Sun on your back, to light your Way’, though a simple ‘hello’ would do just as well.”

“Barty boy here has never really been the ‘simple’ type, big man.” The other person in the room not blonde, voluptuous and glowering through a half hidden grin at the display in front of her said, the rotund man standing and smiling through his bushy moustache, sharp eyes peering out of an equally bushy set of eyebrows. “He’s a man of the people, you could say! All the people. Forever.”

“He is a scholar, a warrior and a saint, ser Peter.” The man chafed at being called by his surname by anyone not a student, he knew. And if even a third of the tales the man had told rang true, and Oobleck didn’t countermand even half of them, then he was an honored veteran like any other. He gave the historian a glance and a nod and added, “And a friend besides, of course. I am glad to have met him, that much is plain.”

“I’m honored, truly.” The man bowed his head and both the other men rushed to make him put a stop to that, not eager to see the man grovel so. 

“You need not bow to me as such, my friend, even if my texts do detail it in my culture.” Perhaps social etiquette had been something best not given to Oobleck, as he seemed to be trying to emulate it for his benefit. A kindness to be sure, but not one he needed to be content. “Please, relent.”

“Friend, you bow to no one!” Peter blustered boldly, chest - and stomach, impossibly - puffed out challengingly. 

“That is a movie quote, Peter.” Oobleck pointed out quietly, a thin eyebrow raised, “We saw it together. Last night, point of fact. You can’t quote Lord of the Grimm : Return of the Wizard at me and think I won’t catch it.”

“If you three are quite done?” Glynda’s words were sharp at her end of the long, and empty, table but they carried no bite. They couldn’t with the wide, bright grin trying to break across her face, now that break was in full swing and they were in private, where wayward students staying at Beacon couldn’t see her. “We do have work to get done, after all. So if you are done with movie quotes?”

They were seated rather quickly at that, fearing a more sharp demand if they idled and didn’t set to work as befitted their station. Even he, strict and rigorous as he was at times after so long, took amusement in the antics and took part. Though he kept that more limited even than Bartholomew did, in his poking and jesting, he was unashamed to admit that he had relaxed somewhat. Integrated, he supposed one could say, into at least this part of the staff at Beacon. Though it was largely disparate from other sections, these all being basic combat class staff members, as opposed to the survivalism courses and related staff for that, who he didn’t meet as often as one might have thought.

Their duties were too different to keep them together at all times, or even most of the time.

“In two weeks, as per tradition, the annual Beacon Ball will be hosted here. Normally, I would simply send letters asking for volunteers to chaperone the event, as well as organize decor and supply for the event.” The woman began, now that pleasantries had passed and she could slide into dutiful work as she so enjoyed doing. “This year, however, is the year of Vale’s hosting for the Vytal Festival. As such, there will be transfer students from the other Academies in attendance, here ahead of the tournament the festival is centered around. Which means more children, and less familiar faces on those children.”

“As such,” she continued after a brief pause for breath, and to check that Peter was actually listening and not humming some tune under his breath, “this year will need to be handled quite differently. As opposed to two chaperones for the evening, we will have three official chaperones, including myself and General James Ironwood. Not to mention security concerns expressed by the General, who is now in charge of the affair, who insists on at least two staff members from the combat related courses to oversee and support his men.”

“I volunteer for chaperone duties.” He rushed to offer, sitting forward and leaning on the table, his mass enough to make the metal thing groan in protest at the action. With a smile, he explained, “It has been some number of years since I was afforded the chance to attend a formal dance. I would quite like to again, even as a chaperone.”

“I should be well enough to manage supplying the event, and will attend personally as well. I would not miss the Ball for the world if I could help it, you understand.” Oobleck offered, the woman raising an eyebrow at him in clear challenge. Oobleck rolled his eyes in answer, and grinned, “I will not order any coffee for the event, even if my special blend is in perfect season this time of year.”

“Good.” Glynda remarked, jotting down something on her Scroll in her hand with a finger before looking back at them with a small grimace. “We all remember what happened the last time you supplied your special blend to the Ball’s participants.”

“I don’t.” He pointed out curiously, leaning back in his seat and glancing between his colleagues in turn. “What happened?”

“We had to rebuild the majority of the auditorium over the summer semester.” Glynda explained dryly, waving a hand at the doctor meaningfully, who smiled sheepishly in response. “Mainly because his special blend of coffee set the students so on edge and energized they lost control of their Semblances. Some of which were literally explosive.”

“I apologized.” The man pointed out in weak protest, Peter beside him grinning ear to ear at the show he was getting.

“He asked, and Peter is basking in the show.” She countered, the man holding his hands up in defeat. Sighing, but grinning thinly in victory the way she often did, the woman went back to their work without a second thought. “Since you enjoyed that so much, Peter, you can take the security job.”

“B-B-But-”

“Ironwood will send the details to you and arrange a meeting with his security staff head, likely the day after tomorrow.” She finished, smiling thinly and turning an eye on the larger man, a brow raised in question as the Scroll clicked closed. As sure a sign of the business aspect ending as any, they all knew from knowing the woman. “I didn’t know you liked dances?”

“It was one pleasure I allowed myself in my travels, long ago.” She understood what he meant by that, as did Bartholomew from the look on his face that was somewhere between appreciation and discovery addled wonder, even if Peter looked lost. Then the occasional ball or festive dance had been a wonder, like the Bonfires. Lights in the darkness, where people gathered to comfort each other with dance, food, drink and merrymaking. “I shall polish my finest suit of mail and chain until it shines like the very sun itself. Oh, I can hardly contain my excitement.”

“I see.” She blinked but nodded after a second, sighing and adding as an after thought, “Do you know how to dance?”

“I, well… No, not your dances, at least.” Though of his own dances, he was an adept, if not a true master. “I shall make time in the coming days to study them, however, so fret not. Should I need to dance, I will be capable.”

“I’ll teach you myself, Deacon. It is the least I could do for you.” She promised, standing without another word and nodding to him, “Tomorrow evening, meet me outside my room. In your armor, I suppose, as you will be dancing in it.”

“Shall I get the chance?” His question was idle curiosity mixed with hope, as he enjoyed the act of dancing. But for some unknown reason, it had the two men across from him grinning and trading glances. 

“Yes.” She nodded simply, flicking a finger and tossing paper clips at the two with the force of a bullet, whistling against them and flicking off Aura threateningly. “It’s tradition for the chaperones to share a dance, after all. And I shan’t have you putting me to shame, in either direction, so you will practice.”

“Ah.” He blinked and then bowed his head, eyes closed in reverence. “Thank you, Headmistress.”

“You say that now, but when you step on her toes and the crops comes out to- Ack!” Peter flailed in defense as several more paper clips shot at him, a veritable volley fire of office supplies that stuck in his moustache and hair. Seeing another volley of office utensils rise threateningly behind her, the man threw his arms in the air, hands high above his head, “I surrender! Mercy, milady! Mercy!”

“Hm…. No.” The man cried out as he was assailed by the office supplies and the other two laughed at him, the woman adding in a loud voice as Peter ran from the room, “I know where you sleep! And I have administrative entry, Peter!”

Today, he decided, had been a good day.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“Do take care not to prick yourself with this, girl. And tell your little mistress to be as well.” Watts said quietly as he handed the black case over, longer than her arm but light and mostly empty. Even he, ever cocky and self assured, handled the thing with the care of a bomb. A hand to either end of the case, a sure grip, and eyes locked on it even when he barbed at her. “I have seen what even one cut from it can do to a person, and Aura doesn’t even slow it down. It drains it away all in one snap.”

“I’ll pass the message along.” Emerald promised, wearing a heavy coat with a hood and long pants to hide her skin and hair from anyone’s view. The man’s eyes flickered to hers as he held the case out, not even chiding her for a ‘sire’ out of her. Gingerly, she took the case in both hands like he had, asking, “What is it, exactly? Some kind of weapon, I know that much, but even she said she wasn’t sure what it was.”

“A very, very old knife from the archives. One of several, point of fact. None of which I ever wanted to be near, after I saw what they could do to a Grimm.” The man said simply, taking a long step back from her, towards the hotel he’d stayed in for cover.

Not for fear of being spotted, she knew, it was so dark here that only a Faunus could pick them out. And this area was very much under Fang control, hence their meeting here. No one who saw them and knew either of them would breathe a word of it, though she wore a disguise in case someone who didn’t know them or the area spotted them. 

“That will allow anyone to be killed, including our… Guest, now that we know what he is, if not completely who he is.” Though she had no idea, for whatever reason Cinder had for that. Whatever this target was, who they were armed to killed but supposed to avoid like the plague, had to be powerful though for Cinder’s mistress to send something personally to help. “Even a knick from that weapon could put a Huntress on death’s door, and a stabbing with it would see her dead before she hit the ground.”

“I understand.” 

“Hopefully. Our Mistress has pulled out everything to make this plan go through… It would be a shame if Cinder failed now, hm?” The man nodded, turning on a heel and headed to his room again, where he and the other two ‘backups’ were waiting for Cinder to need them. 

Careful and anxious, she made her way back to the where Cinder and Mercury were waiting, in a warehouse owned by some no-name businessman in Atlas that the Fang used for a hideout. The guards were either too greedy to refuse their bribes, or too afraid to think it, and they pretended not to even see her as she entered the building, using her Semblance on each she passed just in case to look like a young blonde woman with skin pale as snow. Inside, Mercury was lounging on a chair at a table, legs propped up on it while Cinder sat on a crate and waited patiently for them to arrive. 

“Give it here, I need to see what Salem thought would be so powerful a tool.” Cinder demanded shortly, moving to meet her and take the box, turning to set it on the table while they huddled around it, the woman unlatching the box and opening it carefully. Warily. “Huh.”

Inside, sat on a velveteen groove made to the task, sat a knife of dark iron, covered in chips and weather. The blade was black and veined slightly, and had a gentle curve to it as well, and looked to be a separate pieces from the cleaner, newer handle. Gingerly, she picked the thing up and held it in her hands, Emerald rushing to speak and warn her beloved mistress.

“The doctor said that even a knick could-”

“I know, girl. I was warned already, personally. Though from the sound of it, the warning bears repeating...” She said, holding the weapon tenderly but at arm's length, like she thought it would explode at any given moment. Smiling, she ordered, “Bring our little guest out, would you? I’d like to test this out.”

Mercury was glad to do it, of course, and faster than her at moving to, hopping out of his seat and jogging from the room. He returned quickly, wheeling in a chair with a large man in it, black hair matted in blood and bindings red from his struggling over the days leading up to it, and the White Fang’s ‘questioning’ about who he’d told what. Mow, black eyes bored into them as Cinder approached, the woman tutting teasingly at the man and holding the weapon in her left hand carefully. 

“Now, Tukson was it?” She started, kneeling in front of him and meeting his eyes with a vicious smile, holding the weapon up, wagging it back and forth to catch the light and his gaze both. “I have good news for you. You’re free to go, after one little favor I need you to do me. One little cut and you are free to go. How’s that sound?”

“Mph!” The man grunted through his gag, pulling against his bindings knowingly. Whatever the knife would do, the man clearly knew it would kill him. 

“Perfect.” She purred, standing and smiling sadistically before gently swiping the knife across his cheek. 

The effect was instant, the man howling in pain completely out of character for the tiny little cut he’d gotten. Especially with how hard to break down and get answers from he’d been, the pained screaming was an odd sound from the man. Around the wound, the skin began first to steam, and then bubbled slightly. Like water starting to boil, Emerald though as he stomach turned. Then the skin sagged inward and the screaming got impossibly worse, the flesh greying and blackening a sthe bubbling spread all across his body like a disease. Every inch of him bubbled, steamed and then sagged inward, the man writing in unbridled agony to the point of seeming to be seizing while they all watched. 

Finally, he began to fall to pieces. Literally. First his fingers fell away, one after the other and not always all at once, and then larger pieces sloughed off onto the floor. Red muscle peeked out for a minute before blackening, and bone did the same. Three minutes after he’d started screaming he sagged to the side, finally dead as steam crawled into the air from his body and Emerald gagged. 

“Ugh, the smell…” She complained, taking long steps away and watching Cinder, who pinched her nose against it, gently carry the weapon to the case and shut it tight. “That is nasty, Ma’am.”

“And according to Salem, the only thing that can kill Deacon.” She nodded, taking a step back and turning a surprisingly shocked gaze on the body. “This is an interesting turn of events, it seems. Now to plan out exactly how to do this...”

“Aren’t we supposed to avoid him?” Emerald asked cautiously, more worried about Cinder being in trouble in the end than anything else. 

“Yes, but I am confident that with all my assets, we can bring him down.” She shrugged nonchalantly, and added after a second, “Though, I will be planning out his take down extensively. My mistress sent me several allies to ensure things go to plan, and young Adam has a few on hand as well. Surely our numbers will let us strike him down.”

“And that will please Salem greatly.”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

So, the start of the Vytal Arc comes in swinging~ A short dance arc to move things along, first, and then the Vytal fuckery that cometh after. Hope you all will enjoy it~!

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Bombfox :

He will be off the leash soon enough, I promise you that.

Meddling Tiger :

Glad you’re enjoying it.

SD Phantom :

Indeed. The challenges Deacon faces are almost purely tactical or mental ones. Not physical ones, where he excels. ‘Outsmart, not outfight’ is a theme here.


	18. Chapter 18

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Balls were an event of joy, festivity and reprieve in his time. From war, the Curse, and all the more mundane problems of the world and its people all in equal measure. Always they were accompanied by other venues, other sights and joys to entrance the people’s imaginations and enhance the people’s lives in such a harsh world. Some hosted jousting lists for the nobility to ply their skills, others held grand feasts and hunts to assuage fear and suffering with food and conventional sport, while yet more hosted tourneys for all comers to fight and drill together. All to raise spirits and hone the skills of men and women who, sooner or later, would need to take up weapons against the Dark around them.

This world was much the same, and so he journeyed to Ozpin’s office, to share his insights and ideas on the matter.

“You… Want to have a sparring tournament? And a fair?” Ozpin asked hours later, when the Undead came to his office late in the day to speak with him. Not so late as to be a bother, he knew for asking Glynda previously about it, but late enough to not interrupt his work either. A happy middle ground for the Undead warrior to pitch his idea in, without fear of hampering the other being’s work load or anything of the sort. “You want us, Beacon, to host a sparring tournament… In tandem with the Beacon Ball?”

“Yes, Headmaster.” The man said, standing across from him with his arms clasped at the back of his waist. In truth, he was nervous, bringing such a suggestion to his host’s attention and trying to argue him to its acceptance, it was a new endeavor for him. “In my age, feats of combat were celebrated, as they are here. So balls of high esteem were often accompanied by tourneys for nobles to show valour, and throughout the land festivals of combat were hosted. To allow all to hone their combat edge, and emphasize it in the fight against the Dark.”

“The Vytal Festival is one such festival, though it’s meant to celebrate unity through combat. Against the Grimm.” Ozpin pointed out, leaning back in his seat, elbows resting on the arms of the chair and fingers pressing against each other gently in his lap. “So, I’m assuming you have a different idea for it?”

“As we are hosting, I do.” He nodded, leaning forward on the desk excitedly, fighting now to keep his smile under control. It was so exciting to be planning a tourney, even if it didn’t come to fruition, he could scarcely contain himself. “A tourney system is not simply a fight. Instead, I propose we spend the week leading up to it on a full tourney system proper. Challenges, like marksmanship tests, hunts for Grimm trophies, relic hunts like Initiation, those sorts of things.”

“And a fight as well, I suppose?” Ozpin asked, an Atlesian battleship drifting by in low patrol over Beacon’s grounds, drawing the Headmaster’s eyes for a moment. The craft listed gently after a second, turning to head on the next leg of its journey, and Ozpin went on, “James will enjoy the challenges, I am sure, as will Miss Goodwitch. Qrow as well, though he will probably be more intrigued by the Grimm hunts than any fights.”

“I hope that many find enjoyment in the games and contests I have in mind, Headmaster.” He agreed, “And those not enthralled by those will likely enjoy other sporting matters, like the marksmanship tests and such.”

“And you have plans for these?” 

“Not in detail, no. I haven’t the time to have wasted days planning out a tourney faire only for you to refuse the idea.” Ozpin nodded but didn’t speak, looking up at him expectantly. Only a moment passed before he realized with a blink that Ozpin wanted him to try and think up some sort of way forward with the plan. “I suppose I would contact the Headmistress for funding, permits, placement of these challenges and the like…”

“And what about Cinder Fall?” The man asked, drumming his fingers against each other in thought. “All this will busy us, and make watching her all the harder. Impossible even, with the scope of what you wish to do.”

“I see.” The Headmaster was right, he knew without much consideration. The woman was a threat, he knew that for fact and Ozpin trusted his word enough to acknowledge the issue, even if he could do nothing for it at the moment without hard proof. Shoulders sagging in disappointment, the Undead nodded understandingly. “You are right, Headmaster. Now is not the time with the witch in our midst. I apologize.”

“Nonsense.” Ozpin waved the idea of the apology off and smiled, a kind and warm gesture the warrior had not expected. At least not when he felt rejection was the likely end point of the conversation. “I did not say no, Deacon. I said the scale was a risk to undertake. A small fair of some sort though? That I could phrase to the Council as an experiment in festivities, to ‘deepen cultural relations’ and ‘encourage a wider variety of studies’.”

“I see…” He’d need someone who understood cultures, then, as well as someone who understood financial matters and how to make arrangements for things. “The two I could think of would be the Headmistress and Doctor Oobleck. But both are-”

“James did offer his staff for security and administration duties.” Ozpin interrupted gently, no offense intended but instead seemingly hoping to help the ancient man get his solutions quicker and more easily. An act of kindness that the other being did not fail to notice, inclining his great head at the suggestion. “This is a good idea, even beyond the obvious. It will also make a show of our Academy’s prospects and programs, and sow more faith in the common man in our Hunters.”

“Something lacking, somewhat, of late.” He sighed and gave a gentle shake of his head at that. Had they not seen the warriors fighting and falling for them? Or did they think that battle came without cost? “This would, hopefully, act in service to that end, however.”

“Unless it is undermined by young Fall and her cohorts.” The man pointed out, the drumming of his fingers stalling as he sought the words for what he wanted to say. “I believe her objective is to sow panic and fear in the populace ahead of something. She has used the Grimm already in her plans, and as they are attracted to such emotions…”

“Sabotage to further engender fear and trepidation would be her likely course of planning.” The Undead pieced the ideas together quickly. Just as quickly, in fact, as he attached a third idea onto the string of plans. “You hope to entrap her. To find a way to get the evidence you need in my planned faire, and then use it to bury her.”

“Does that anger you?” The Undead saw and heard genuine concern, there. 

“Only somewhat.” He admitted after a second of thought, considering the man’s plan and his own codes beside it. “But what you have told me of this great enemy, and Cinder herself, leads me to believe a trap is the best option. Though it galls me to use such underhanded methods, I can not fault them in the face of opponents who might only fall to them.”

“Fighting fire with fire, as they say.” Ozpin filled in, the Undead not quite having the insight to understand the meaning entirely but getting the gist for context. “I’m sometimes glad for your prudence, Deacon, more than anything else. Some people would balk at doing the uncomfortable, necessary thing…”

“My life has been filled with those, Ozpin.” Or his existence, at least, as he was unsure if he was ‘living’ in the conventional sense. “I would not balk at something that protects the innocent and furthers a pursuit of a truer, more complete sense of justice. Such would be folly.”

“Then you are on board?” Ozpin asked, adding when he hesitated, “I would not involve you in things you consider unsavory, Deacon. I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Headmaster. I consent to this plan of yours.” All parts of it gave him things he liked, if in different ways, after all. A chance at his festivities and a chance at getting Fall. Two great boons, to be sure, with benefits of their own in equal measure. “I place my trust in you, in this matter, and hope it is of service to battling the greater threats in this world.”

“Indeed.” The man nodded, fingers beginning again to drum against each other as he thought and planned inside his own head. “You have my permission to decide what events to host, though I recommend the marksmanship and Grimm trophy gathering particularly. For the latter, the Emerald Forest will more than suffice. For the former, though, something else will need to be devised.”

“I see.” He nodded once more, smiling brightly at the coming ventures. “I will speak to the Headmistress tomorrow, then, once the good general’s assistants have arrived for the delegation of tasks.”

“Very well.” The Headmaster waved a hand, dismissing him as he added to his turning back, “I will call James immediately, and let him know that I have decided to agree to his offer of help.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.” The elevator slid closed and he fished his Scroll out of a pocket, flicking through it to call Miss Goodwitch. “Ah, hello, Glynda. I just finished a meeting with Ozpin and wished to speak with you on the matter.”

“I will be in my quarters soon enough for dinner.” She answered, sounding tired but… Bright, somehow. “Would you join me? I was considering making a lasagna tonight, and company goes grand with work and food.”

“I don’t know what a ‘lasagna’ is…”

“Then I will enjoy treating you to something new. Deacon.” She chuckled and he heard papers shuffling on the other end of the line, and then a grunt as she no doubt lifted papers to put them away in her efforts to be done for the day. “I’m headed there shortly. Meet you there?”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Adam had spent the last six years traveling from Kingdom to Kingdom, fighting the fight for equality and justice. In that time, he had fought every thing from Huntsman and Huntresses hired as security staff for various companies under the Schnee umbrella - or sometimes more accurately, their yoke - as well as those who simply saw them as more monsters to slaughter, all the way to simple guard forces for settlements under Schnee control and the Atlesian military proper on their bad days. Either by purchasing enough of the land, or controlling the supply, there were plenty of settlements under the SDC yoke that he had fought both for and against in years passed. 

In that time, he got used to the discomforts of living in the wilderness, off the land, and the different but equally annoying discomforts of being stuffed in a hideout with no real lability to go anywhere else.

This one was one of many warehouses that the White Fang’s friends in wealthy places. About two hundred feet in every direction except up, and forty there, the warehouse was sizeable enough to serve their needs. Removing their uniforms, he’d had the recruits work on bringing in containers for a week, both to build up their fitness and test team compositions and to make the place look less suspicious. 

These were then arranged along the outer walls first, thickening them and filled with wood to stifle noise from inside and protect against attack from outside. Then more containers were shipped in, from Menagerie and their Mistralian brothers most often, filled with furniture and, later, food. The empty containers were then stacked in neat corridors and tall columns, makeshift stairs and ladders used to scale up the stacks and get into the beds and ‘houses’ they’d built.

Faunus were, if nothing else, adept at adaptation. 

He and Banesaw, his lieutenant in all things Valean, were not among the men and women to dwell there, though. Like many warehouses nestled between the Wall and the docks, this one had a high office, seated in the middle and accessed by spiraling stairs around a spire that connected to the ceiling for structural support, that overlooked the entire warehouse. There was an office to monitor the work and, above that, a living area for when shifts got long even for the overseer of the place.

Central, raised so he could see the entirety of his ‘camp’, and easily defensible given the few access points and the roof escape possibility, Banesaw had quickly claimed it as his base of operations. And now, Adam’s as well.

Inside the accommodations were rather spartan. Two beds tucked either side of the door, one for him and the other for Banesaw, and a wide table with a map of Vale on it tucked against the far wall. Between the two sides, and with a work table to one side and heavy cabinets for clothing on the other, was the door that would lead up onto the roof. A couch had been set across from that, with a low table before it covered in a thin, cheap sheet to eat and drink over without ruining the rather nice furnishing. 

“And so,” the red clothed woman sitting there said with a smile, beautiful legs crossed in a purposeful show of skin, “we are amending our plans. A stronger arm has appeared in Vale, and is currently aligned with Beacon. Attacking the way we planned to would be suicide.”

“How do you mean?” He tried to hide the anger he elt at the demand, standing with his arms crossed over his chest across the table from her. But he knew it hadn’t worked, he was never very good at keeping his cool. 

“If I fought him alone, I would die inside two minutes. And there’s nothing I could even attempt to do to prevent it, aside from beg.” She said simply, smile vanishing off her face as quickly as the light from a fire when it was doused, which fit her face as she mentioned begging quite handily. “My mistress, you’ve heard me reference her a few times, I am sure. Correct?”

“Once or twice, yes.” And only that, really, with no details about it beyond that. But if they could command someone like her, then he didn’t want to offend them. “Why?”

“She sent me orders to avoid fighting him, if possible. To the point of backing down on a few of my objectives, if need be.” The woman explained, watching the way he tensed and fought back his anger at that. He’d sacrificed too many men and women to just let her back off now, and she seemed to know that, raising a hand placatingly. “We will still attack Beacon, to make your point for you and get what I want. It just… May occur as a smaller affair, and sooner.”

“Smaller how?” He asked, adding before she could answer, “My part of our deal had better not be-”

“Your little traitor will be dealt with, Adam. Even if I have to send one of my own people to capture her and deliver her to you.” She promised, the Faunus across from her pressing his lips into a hard, angry line to convey how he felt. A learned, and needed, thing with the scarring of his face and the mask he wore, to let him convey how he felt. Sighing, the woman spoke simply and plainly, “I understand why you don’t trust me. But if there is a single thing that I can not abide, it is a traitor. So believe me when I say that I sympathise, and will not betray my deal with you.”

“Hm.” Her face told him she was telling the truth, that she meant her words but he didn’t buy it. People like her lied as often as they breathed, in his experience. Regardless, “Fine. What do you know about this ‘stronger arm’?”

“That my Mistress sent me three others equal to my power to face him and stall him, during our attack.” She said it simply, but Adam felt his stomach drop out from under him at the sheer idea of what could need that kind of power arrayed against it. “Further, I will need your help against him as well, while I handle my business in Beacon. Then I will come to join you all against him and-”

“You want all four of us to fight him, and think you will have to come and help us finish him?” The Faunus fighter was shocked, to say the least, shoulders sagging as his feigned fury and superiority fell for his surprise. 

“In all likelihood, we won’t be finishing him when I arrive.” She said quietly, the Faunus blinking in confusion behind his mask. With a hand he gestured weakly, asking without speaking for her to say something, and she answered in another quiet statement of resignation. “My arrival will signal our retreat, in all likelihood, unless we are absolutely sure we can defeat him then and there. We aren’t trying to kill Knight, we’re trying to get what we need and run.”

She didn’t think he could be beaten, the Faunus realized with a shake of his head to regain his composure. A blink and a shake hard enough he had to adjust his mask, if only slightly, with a hand that trailed down his face. Whoever this ‘Knight’ was, she genuinely believed four people on par in one way or another with herself, enough to be her seeming equals under her ‘Mistress’, would not be able to bring him down. Even with himself added into the mix, she still felt that they would almost certainly run from the fight rather than face it to the finish. 

Just what was this Knight?

“I see…” He grunted, turning to gaze out at the men and women he could discern moving about in the dark. His men, his responsibility, and he was going to lead them into a fight like this… “My men and women, we’re used to hit and run. Delay tactics. We’ve been fighting Atlas and the SDC like that for years, now, and the Revolution was fought much the same.”

“Adam, you are not going into combat again, are you? If not, I can offer an edge.” He shook his head no, as he intended to stay hidden until he could make his real debut. If Blake found out he was here, she could bolt again, and she was his responsibility to deal with. She rose and fire flickered along her arm, the other held out in a gesture of peace when he slid into a fighting stance. “Your Semblance allows you to collect and store energy to strike down your opponents, correct?”

“How did you-” She had ways, he knew that by now, so he cut himself off with a grunt. “Nevermind. Yes, that is how it works.”

“Then please, allow me to add some cut to your edge, dear Adam.” She offered, fire whistling as the air around it scorched now, turning first to blue and then - with a grunt of the woman’s effort and beaded sweat - crackling in lighting in her palm. Sounding strained and almost pained, she spoke, “I will give you my all, for now, and rest ahead of our mission. You will gain a sizeable advantage. Decide.”

Drawing his sword and holding it before him n both hands, he braced himself and pooled his Aura warily. Finally, he nodded, and her hand pulled back before rocketing forward between them, electricity cracking from her palm with a sound of muted thunder. His ears popped as the air was scorched away, going from pleasantly cool to hot enough to draw sweat inside a second. The lightning, for that was what it was truly, crackled along his sword length as his Semblance fed on it. Siphoned it, into his sword and then into himself to store, lightning lashing out to scorch lines in his fine jacket all the while.

“Ugh.” Cinder fell to a knee and he matched her, sword humming with energy in his hand, enough to set his hand shaking. With a force of will, he shoved the blade into its sheath and looked to the haggard looking woman, hair falling loose around her shoulders but a smile on her face regardless. “Don’t waste it. Save it, for one single, decisive strike to lay him low when I arrive. That will buy us a chance.”

More commands with a clear expectation he would obey, but for once he didn’t even begin to consider arguing. She was afraid of this man, enough to exhaust herself to make him stronger just to survive.

“When do we attack, then?”

“One week from now, with as little delay as is possible.” She answered gently, the Faunus’ display showing across his face. So soon… They certainly wouldn’t be able to attack Amity at the same time, then. “On the night of the Ball, we intended to infiltrate and plat a virus to aid our attack on Amity. But now, Beacon’s fall will have to suffice, and so we will attack then.”

“All the students will be in gowns and suits, and the staff will rush to protect them.” Adam acknowledged, smiling thinly as he straightened and hung his sword, humming slightly even now, off his waist. “Which means we can torch the Academy, and shatter the faith of the Kingdom in their vaunted protectors, as you always say.”

“Exactly.” She nodded, sitting on the couch once again and sighing. “Now, I need rest after that.”

“Hm.” It was just as well, he decided as he turned to go and seek out Banesaw. He’d need to plan, move in supplies on short notice, and select men to lead the raid on Beacon. They wouldn’t be able to get the Grimm Cinder had asked for, not on this kind of short notice in any case, but a raid?

“Banesaw!” He barked as he reached the base of the staircase, the large man quickly emerging from around a container’s corner. With a wve of his hand to call the man over, he turned to step under the stairs and wait for him. When the man arrived, he didn’t wait for him to ask what he needed and quickly informed him, “Plans changed. Our attack on Beacon has been moved up to the Beacon Ball.”

“What?” The massive man asked, as shocked as Adam himself had been. “Why? How are we even supposed to-”

“I don’t know, but that is the change made to the plan.” He cut the larger, older man off, meeting his eyes through both their helmets. Out of respect for the veteran, Adam looked away first, instead watching the Faunus idling near enough that those with stronger hearing could try and discern what they were saying. He could even see a couple pairs of rabbit ears, quirked towards them curiously. “No Grimm, no looting, we get in, plant bombs in the dorms, set fires, and run.”

“What will you be doing?”

“I’ll be dealing with a… Problem, alongside our guest.” He let the words hang for a moment, and then added in a quieter voice, “Along with her, and three of her associates. We’re to buy time and retreat.”

“Damn…” Banesaw knew why that upset his leader, shaking his head and resting his great hands on his stocky hips. “I’ll get it sorted, Taurus. You can count on it.”

He only answered with a nod, and the large man turned to leave. Headed to do his job, and organize what needed organizing for this all to come together. With a sigh, Adam turned to head back up the stairs, and get some rest himself.

He had only around a week to get enough of it.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

A little over a half-day passed once they made their plans, and set to work on the mild organizational measures needed to prepare for the simple events he had proposed. Constructions needed to host it, ammunition to supply any and all participants with, and arrangements for Ironwood’s loaned officers to handle what they needed to. A task that was simple enough, once the work was underway with the hands they’d gathered for it, but still managed to take most of the morning. 

Once it was done, they sat down to arrange the speech and presentation needed to ‘get the ball rolling’ on the project, according to Qrow. That took the better part of four hours, over which time the students began siphoning back to Beacon ahead of the normal half-week to let students readjust back to their proper schedules and attend the Ball. And so once early evening set in, they were able to call the moderate majority of students into the assembly hall for a talk. Word of mouth would carry it the rest of the way.

“As you all have been made aware, the Beacon Ball this year is being handled… Differently, as part of an experiment in sports the Academy has been considering for some time.” Glynda explained for him, standing at the podium a few feet in front of where he stood, arrayed in a line with the other combat course teachers - for their relation to the sports’ natures as combat oriented - with the addition of Ironwood standing beside the woman and, at the end of the row behind them and looking bored and haggard, Qrow Branwen. “Now, the Ball proper is in six days, and we have come up with three sporting events to be handled, two tomorrow and the third and final the day after. General Ironwood will discuss the first, as he has agreed to graciously organize the event.”

“Thank you, Headmistress.” The large man rumbled, taking her place at the podium, heavy hands holding either side of it while she took his former place beside it. Taking a breath, the man began to speak. “First of our sporting events is a marksmanship test for the students, exchange and otherwise, as well as soldiers to partake in. This will take place in the broadway before Beacon, and consist of shooting targets shot into the air and stationary on the ground. Speed and accuracy both will matter here.”

In the distance, the Undead saw a small girl bounce up in seeming excitement, before three sets of hands dragged her back down. Similarly, other students began murmuring excitedly to their teams, partners and friends.

“Alongside it will be an exhibitionary fair, of sorts, where students can have spars officiated between themselves and other students, or even faculty or Hunters in my employ if they wish and the other individual accepts.” If the marksmanship test hadn’t earned much reaction then that certainly did. Students began speaking loudly then, to each other and across to others, already issuing challenges. 

With a crack of her weapon, silence fell and Glynda spoke, loudly and surely, “You can issue challenges after the announcements are over, students. And for those who can’t, you will find yourself barred from participation.”

“On the final day we in the Atlesian military will be supporting a Grimm hunting tournament in the Emerald Forest.” Ironwood continued after a moment to test the students’ pause in conversation, and see if it would hold. No one interrupted this time, as much for discipline as for Glynda’s grip on her riding crop tightening threateningly, and Ironwood continued on. “My ship will provide emergency support for those participating, of course. The objective is to hunt Grimm and collect their bone plating as trophies. This has the added benefit of teaching you how to manage acquiring proof of a Grimm pack well dead for your future missions.”

“Tools and a briefing will be provided to harvest the bone plates before the Grimm dissolve entirely, as well as how to prevent rapid dissolution of the corpse.” Glynda added in a commanding tone which carried across the room. Some students groaned at the prospect of another class, but many seemed excited by the venture. “The Hunt will be the day before the Ball, so some who may prefer the Ball may wish to abstain. However, it will conclude with plenty of time for rest and getting cleaned up prior.”

“Are there any questions?” Ironwood made the mistake of asking, as literally hundreds of hands rose around the auditorium. 

Ah well, the students were interested and he was more than patient enough to stand and have their questions answered. And he and his colleagues could surely stand and handle the task with few problems.

Surely.

“I despise you, Knight.” Qrow growled an hour and a half later, when they finally retired to another of the conference rooms the staff used for meetings. The drunk plopped into a seat with a groan and shot the Undead a baleful glower, “You just had to overachieve and drag me into it. Eh?”

“I think the ideas he proposed were innovative and good.” Glynda defended, taking her seat with a small smile and a sigh, evidently glad to be off her feet as well. “Now then, on to the last bit of organizing for this endeavor…”

“Yay.” Qrow drawled, fishing his flask out for a drink with a grumbled, “Organization is fun, after all…”

“Given I run a military and she runs an Academy, I don’t think you’re going to receive much sympathy for your lazier inclinations, Qrow.” James countered, though the Undead saw the small smile on his face. Old friends and allies prodding and ribbing each other was a universal constant, he supposed. “Now, I have catapult launchers normally used for flares. Those could launch the disks for the marksmanship tests.”

“And you’ve already promised some Dust shields for the spars, that we can deploy in the space between the far cliffs where the shooting will take place and Beacon proper.” Glynda added, turning to Port and Bartholomew with a raised brow, “Have you two actually made arrangements for the food stalls between the two or four sparring centers and Beacon?”

“Yes, yes, we’ve arranged a variety of food venues. Less than the Festival by a large cry, of course, and we had to hire different individuals on the promise of Beacon praise and advertisement rights.” Advertisements, he understood now after asking the Headmistress why the picture shows had such unrelated scenes breaking the rhythm of the story. “The contracts are not ideal, but next year they can be negotiated sooner.”

“Acceptable, for now.” She nodded, closing one of a dozen folders after signing her name on something in it, and then sliding it aside for another. “Now, to the ammunition concerns.”

The evening, he knew, would be spent as such. Approvals, reports and the like, to finalize the organization of his idea and Ozpin’s plans. Which, while he did not enjoy the endeavor, he was more than happy enough to undertake it for the greater good of all. And, of course, his faire as well. 

Though he’d tell anyone that was a happy coincidence.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

So I considered having an arc about all the minute goings on in planning the dance and these little things, but… I don’t think that would be fun to read, really. I wrote it out previous, and it was incredibly dry and more of a plodding, chorish read than enjoyable. So I trimmed that out and instead focused on the plot progression, some of which I moved from the next chapter to here. The announcement for instance would have been next chapter, originally, as would the Cinder and Adam scene. 

What would have made up the four thousand word minimum I go for on these? Boring planning, really. 

Yeah.

How about nah?

Anyways, on all my stories, I am starting to try and go for longer chapter and slower upload rates. However the rest of this to the end of the Dance Arc is already largely planned - my change here not withstanding - so chapters will likely still be short on this for a while. Sorry about that.

Hope you enjoy regardless, and stay twisted my friends.

P.S. 

I did foreshadow the hell out of this but the daggers Salem has, and Cinder now has one, are Lifehunt daggers. Guess who made them? I will only say one thing in relation t their usage - the story will not end if/when Deacon gets shivved by one. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Yesboss 21 :

Spoilers~

But i am glad you are enjoying my stories.

Bob :

One, yes, he is going to feel much anger. Two, Undead are not immune to Lifehunt. No one and nothing is. Hence Priscilla’s being sealed into the Painted World, everyone was scared shitless of her adorable self.

Brainarius :

Ozpin is actually very intelligent. It’s only that Salem has been at this for so long, so she knows what he will do, that causes his plans to falter to steadily. Salem can predict him. Predictability is not stupidity. His stubbornness and need for control, though… Yeah, that’s kinda stupid.

SD Phantom :

Yeah, he’s excited. That’s why this chapter was initially going to be him planning stuff. It was too dry, though, so I scrapped the original plans for this chapter and next and worked them together. 

N-Lorin :

XD

Grape fanta :

That’s by design. I wanted a unique character to stand out a bit.


	19. Chapter 19

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Atlas was, if nothing else whatsoever, a pillar of efficiency and industriousness of a scale even the Undead Knighthood Orders would have paid compliments to it. And enough to impress him besides, and not even in the way he was normally impressed by his youngers in this era. 

For thirty yards ahead of the main entrance to Beacon Academy’s grounds, headed towards the grand Bullhead docks, rows of stalls had been set up. Food of every kind, trinkets and baubles in one corner, books and writing tools, and all the other trappings Glynda had explained to him previously spaced well enough to be comfortable but tight enough to be economical. No space wasted, no chance for advantage floundered. And for that very reason, trios of white-armored guards patrolled, blues and reds of rank on clear display and weapons across their chests. 

Students and visitors from Vale here for the little joviality he had brought to their day parted for them to retain their unity in transit, but he saw no fear amongst them for it. They laughed, waved, he even saw the soldiers and droids posing for pictures with them. A sign of a population used to war and monsters, he knew with sad certainty.

Flags fluttered high, too. Flags of the Kingdoms - for the Vytal Festival this was on the cusp of, with people already here for it, he’d been told - hung off dozens of tall metal poles around the area and lining all along the boulevard. Marking the perimeter of the grounds, he supposed, or at least well enough no one wandered off. Though the Hunters patrolling along that line, eyes turned towards the forest and skies in case something - anything - happened that might draw Grimm in they would need to handle.

A hundred yards beyond that were taken up by four wide, concrete amphitheatres, with seating edged around the outside and pylons surrounding a high, steel wall that encompassed the entire area. The pylons, he’d been told, were the same built into the combat course’s very structure and would generate a kinetic barrier made of Dust to protect the viewers from any harm. The seating was raised, of course, so they could see the fights - spars and exhibition rounds between willing upperclassmen and Hunters - they’d come and paid to see. There was time yet before the fights, but already the wide main avenue between each row was packed with those milling about, waiting to get seats for the spectacles. 

The last forty yards of Beacon’s open area before the Academy were taken up firstly by more stands, this time in a single high row. Beyond it were small metal cylinders that fired targets into the air, a half dozen marksman already out, firing at free targets shot out over the forest. In the distance, a siren sounded and the crowds began to head that way, towards where the target shooting contest was starting.

Assuming nothing happened, he reminded himself, arms crossed over his plated chest and hands drumming on his biceps heavily. Anxiously. Enough to worry the Headmistress, beside him, standing behind one of the windows at the end of a long hallway in the administrative wing and looking out on the grounds. 

“Are you well, Deacon?” He turned to look at Glynda, standing beside him with a hand laid on his armored forearm, light chain and plate shining a resplendent silver. Smiling mirthfully when he didn’t answer right away, she asked, voice laden with clear teasing intent, “You look rather nervous, you know. Like our students on their first day here, headed out to the cliffs for Initiation. Afraid that a Grimm will devour them whole. I don’t imagine you’ve the same to worry about here.”

“I fear no beast. You know that.” He assured her, nodding his head down at the fairgrounds they’d built, and so quickly, meaningfully. “But this scares me, such is true. This, both for the festive celebration it is on its face and for the… The deception it is, under its cloak. Like a thief’s dagger, ready to thrust into a man’s throat, so much is here that could go so very wrong.”

“It will be fine either way.” She assured him, pointing out, finger trailing between half a dozen older pairs in colorful garb to remind him of the Hunter’s presence. “You didn’t need to wear armor for this.”

“One of the two alternatives to this is a battle, Miss Goodwitch.” He reminded her quietly, waving a hand at his face, bare of all armor all the way down to the base of his neck. “And I left the helmet off, as an aside, for a point. The Astoran Elite Knights sported adequate arms and armor for anything that may occur, and I intend to wear it to the dance besides. So it suffices as formal wear as well.”

“You’re rather good at double-meaning decisions and underhanded moves, when you want to be, aren’t you?” The words were in jest, but he couldn’t fight the dissatisfied grunt that came with the question. The woman’s teasing, jovial smile fell at the foul mood it caused and she swallowed anxiously, leaning against the windowsill in silence and watching the goings on below for a moment. 

They sat like that for a long time, in a tense and awkward silence, before the woman sighed and turned to him. Twice she opened her mouth and closed it, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Finally, she went on, “I am sorry, Deacon, I shouldn’t joke about making you lie and play these underhanded games. I know how you feel about these kinds of things.”

“I agreed to them, that does not mean I like them.” He nodded, giving the fair before them a wave of a hand regardless and forcing a small smile, “This world requires such, and my comfort comes second rate to its survival. I know that. But were it so easy…”

“I apologized for upsetting you, Deacon not for anything about that. I recognize the way the world is, albeit without your… Lens of context.” She drawled gently, offering him a sad smile and adding, “I’m your friend, Deacon. And I am sorry, so sorry, that you have to do things that go so hard against what you believe. And I am sorry that I joked about it the way I did.”

“All right.” He nodded, unsure of what else to say even as he thought about it. “I forgive you, as I feel you are seeking for it. No harm was done by words that could not be thrice undone by them in turn.”

“Were it so easy…” She didn’t argue, though, instead turning back and watching the marksman tests from where they stood. She sighed and, quiet and sounding like she was talking about something entirely different, repeated, “Were it so easy indeed.”

The silence after that was a bit more comfortable, the duo standing together and watching the distant, minute explosions of bright, Dust based fire. Meant to make it more ‘showy’ Peter had explained when he’d asked, so people all throughout Beacon could see the shows of prowess. 

“Are you going to fight?” She finally asked, waving a hand at the shield leaning against the wall by the window, blue and stenciled with a silver dragon. “Or is that part of your formal, knightly dance wear as well?”

“And if I said that it was?” He raised a brow and smirked, giving the much smaller woman a look. 

“Ah, well...” She scoffed, shaking her head wryly and answering, “Then I’d ask what kind of dancing you could possibly be doing with a teardrop shield such as that tied onto your arm.”

“You’d be surprised, I think, how light on my feet I am when in my element. As a ballerina or ballroom maestro, I may move, in armor and with weapon in hand yet.” He asserted, bowing at the waist and earning the woman’s quiet chuckle at the gesture. More serious, once he straightened, he added, “And yes, I do intend to partake in the exhibitionary matches. I have heard whispers among the students that many wish to try their hand against me after our spar.”

“Do try not to break any more arms, Deacon, even if you enjoy the sparring.”

“I don’t intend to maim the student body at large, I assure you, Headmistress. All grievous harm in facing me tends to come accidentally, really. Perhaps if you all were made of sterner stuff...” He smiled wider now, though, chuckling at the woman’s overly dramatic roll of the eyes. He let her enjoy the moment, though, and laugh the quiet, muted little laugh she had. Once more more sombre, he went on, “Way I see it, the more the great foes arrayed against us know of me and my power, the more afraid they will be. The more afraid they are, the less keen on facing the wall of my shield.”

“Using fear and intimidation as a shield.” She nodded understandingly, though he felt some… Tension rise in her, at his simple nod. “You would do well in the Atlesian military, Deacon. Thinking that way is just the way Ironwood likes to train his men and women to think.”

“It’s not an incorrect approach, in truth of the matter. History, yours and mine alike, has shown as much as that, surely you know.” Entire nations had defended themselves with naught but the legends of their nations’ militaries or heroes kept attack at bay. Such history taught lessons, either to one directly or to others who saw them suffer their doom of repetition. “Do you disagree?”

“Factually? No.” She shrugged, watching the last round of the marksmanship test going through, leaned against the edge of the window comfortably. “Morally? I don’t like flexing power as the answer to all our problems, et al. It strikes me as…”

“The wrong approach, Headmistress?” She nodded and, in a way, he understood what she was trying to convey. He sighed in thought, for a long moment, before he stepped closer to the woman. Close enough that his arm brushed against her back and she blinked up at him in confusion. A confusion that vanished when he spoke, “As an Undead, I was the front line of a hundred wars. A religion that speaks of comradeship and peaceful, jolly cooperation… And I was the man, among my peers as well, who was sent to take food from already hungry peasants to feed the war effort.”

“Later, I and others were turned against our Undead brethren. Hunting dissenters down, breaking them, then interring them for the foreseeable eternity in Asylums. Isolation, forever more.” He continued, the woman turning and leaning back against the window to look up at him. To ‘watch his face’, as she’d told it, and see how he felt while he told his stories. “Eventually, I myself was ordered into one of these cells. Cruelties heaped upon cruelties, because I was told they were needed. It taught me well that, oftentimes, the necessary and the unwanted are one and the same.”

“I suppose…” She murmured, smiling apologetically and waving a hand for him to give her space now that the… Sensitive conversation was at an end. He did so and, once he’d stepped away, she explained, “There’s a statement, more a question, among philosophers. ‘If our survival requires us to be inhuman and strike against our core being, then we have not survived’.”

“Essentially, if we give ourselves to evil to defeat evil, we have become it.” He could see the sense but merely shrugged, unsure of what to even do with the idea if he managed to make sense of it. “There may be a truth there, but after so long, it can never be mine, Glynda. When needs must I act, as I am doing now. As I have ever been doing.”

“That’s… Fair enough. I won’t argue.”

“I enjoy the debate, Glyn. But thank you, for the peace of mind, regardless.” He sighed and, after a second, added in as polite a tone as he could manage, “On this one issue, we shall have to disagree. Such is the nature of… Friends. To disagree on small, inconsequential things and yet call each other thus.”

“Glyn?” She remarked, giving him a coy smile and turning to watch the crowds again when he shrugged unsurely. And, he was unashamed to admit, a bit anxiously as well. “You’ve been speaking to Qrow again, I see. Or James. He and Ironwood are the only ones that ever call me that.”

“I did not mean to, Headmistress, -”

“It’s a term my friends use, Deacon.” She cut him off, for a moment edging from friend mode into disciplinarian, before she smiled it off and went on. “You’re my friend, so you are more than welcome to call me what you like. I don’t mind.”

“I… See.” He nodded, then, unsure for the hundredth time what to say now. 

“Yes, I am sure you believe you do.” She shrugged, pushing past him gently and calling back to him, “Now come on now, you titanic demigod. James officiated the marksman contest, Peter dealt with the trophy hunting, but you,” she turned to point at him meaningfully, “get to deal with the tournament fighting.”

“As you say.” He nodded, following behind her dutifully with his shield on his arm. Smiling, he added, “I cannot wait to watch the bouts, Headmistress Glyn.”

“Okay, you don’t get to use both names to get a pass, you armor plated arse.” She chided, the Undead rumbling a laugh at the aggrieved sigh the woman finished her statement on.

Nikos ducked back and sank to her knees, slamming upwards with a devastating Aura infused uppercut, the rim of her shield catching her opponent in the chin and hurling the young halberd wielder up and away from herself. Before he hit the ground she spun, her shield launching on an intercept course with the falling man’s lightly armored stomach. The crowd winced and gasped in sympathy as he rolled across the ground, halberd clanging along behind him. He tried to rise once, but then flopped on the ground and rolled over, groaning while the Undead stepped into the ring and moved towards the center.

“Excellent bout, excellent indeed.” His voice boomed around the arena he’d been given for the ‘official matches’, while the others oohed and ahhed to exhibitionary matches between students and those willing to spar with them, or simply other students. Kneeling, he offered a hand to the downed young man and went on in a bright, jovial, “Good fighting, Mister Lark, and good of you to reach the finals like this. A marked improvement for all to see, and one you ought to be proud of.”

“T-Thank you, sir.” He accepted his halberd from his smiling, Mistralian opponent when she approached from behind him and tried not to make a show of leaning on it. At the Undead officiator’s meaningful glance, he turned and spoke to her directly, a hand offered for her to shake. “Good fight, Nikos. I been trainin’ like a dog with the Card, but still not a match for you.”

“As the Professor said, you did splendidly and are a large improvement in a little time. Feel no shame in loss.” She smiled and nodded, and though the young man didn’t seem to rightly feel it he returned the gesture. He turned and began to walk away, fighting a slight limp on the side the shield had struck him the hardest, and where the young maiden had pressed the hardest for a clear advantage, towards the medical personnel waiting to check him over. To him, she murmured, “He did do splendidly, to make it so far. I hope he doesn’t feel ill for the loss…”

“Hm.” He didn’t, couldn’t with the microphone connected, speak much on the matter beyond her words. 

In truth, he likely shouldn’t have ever been pitted against the likes of Pyrrha Nikos. It should have been an upperclassmen, but few of those had entered the tourney - instead exhausting themselves hunting Grimm still, for sport and practice, since they were allowed to make some Lien off it - and Nikos had unluckily been matched matched against the few incredibly adept younger fighters and bested them in turn. Pure unfortunate luck, Glynda had been quick to assure him, and though he would never cast doubt on her or insult her… Something about the whole ordeal struck him oddly, in a way he wasn’t sure how to explain.

“Now then, Nikos. Congratulations and a nice rest, I wager, are in order for you after such a grand showing.” He finally went on, smiling widely and setting his gauntleted hands on his armored hips as he turned to the crowd, arms spread towards them as though he were to praise the glorious, warm sun glowing above. Injecting as much energy as he could muster into his voice without being overbearing, he asked, “Can we get a good word for our champion, for her well fought victory?”

The woman bowed at the applause and cheering she received, seeming warmed by her team at the fore of it, the ginger woman and the blonde both shouting her name in an effort to be heard. Along with their team name, of course. The woman, smiling always, turned to him in silent asking and he nodded, letting her walk from the arena towards the same medical members waiting to check her over as they had her opponent. Though he knew that was a wasted formality, given she had not once taken a strike against the young CRDL member in their entire bout.

A boast for her abilities, he would honestly assure anyone who asked, rather than a knock on his abilities.

“Today and yesterday’s exhibitions and the unofficial tournament all stand as a show of the skill of our students, Hunters and staff. And celebration of it as well, as a matter of course. The people you entrust your safety to, here to show you for truth their prowess and dedication to defending you.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in, knowing his voice was being played over the television company’s cameras for Vale and beyond to see. Finally, he continued in a solemn voice, “From children learning yet what it is to be a Hunter, a protector, to the Hunters proper and staff who spar with them, all dedicate their lives to this task. They fight, they study, they bleed and, oft, they fall for you. But none complain, for they live off the faith you place in them.” 

“And as one of those men who stands on the shoulder of your faith, your trust, in us I am humbled and grateful for your ears.” He knelt, then, playing on the theatrics Glynda and Ozpin had urged he use to make his - their - points known. Head bowed, he finished with, “Thank you, Valean, Atlesian, Msitralian and Vacuoan, for the faith you grant us. It is our honor to stand before you, and our privilege as well.”

The audience applauded his short, abrupt speech and he rose, smiling he rose and asked, “Now, who would like to see more exhibitionary bouts? Do we have volunteers, perhaps, to face someone they would challenge?”

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“My, my, what a speech indeed. Why, it even managed to almost sound genuine.” Watts drawled, reclining luxuriously on Cinder’s favorite couch in her apartment in one of the poorer, and thus less observed, districts of the Kingdom. 

A small, pitiable dwelling she only kept because of its cheapness and the owner’s lack of care for who stayed in the building so long as they were paid. Nothing more than one large room with a ‘kitchen zone’ - little more than a few feet of tile, space for a fridge and a small stove - used for active dwelling and a bedroom so small Cinder actually felt some semblance of sympathy for her ‘neighbors’ on the four floors of the building. A small ember she rapidly smothered, of course, but there had been a spark.

And that alone made the half-Maiden want to see the landlord’s own house fall to cinders. Or, well, to Cinder, she supposed one could say.

“The fool, whatever he actually is as unsure of that as I am, does seem to believe what he’s saying.” Cinder nodded, taking a sip of her wine and looking at the thousand Lien bottle on the particle board table with a small, ironic smile. A thousand Lien a month ‘apartment’, and she was wearing silk and drinking a thousand Lien bottle of wine. Regardless, “His kind are ever the dutiful automatons, marching in sync like Atlesian drones to their demises with nary a thought in their heads.”

“First of all, I am offended that you compare the kinds of beautiful machines I helped create to these… Pathetic fools.” Watts was always someone whose feathers were easily ruffled, which struck the half-maiden as odd every time she considered it given how often he barbed at other people. If you can’t take the heat, get away from the Cinder… “Secondly, you… Might have a point, actually. Given how Ozpin keeps him close, it would seem most likely that he is equally as foolish as the rest.”

“Ozpin only trusts people he can control.” The brown-skinned giant looming over her stove rumbled, the sound carrying easily despite its quietness for the sheer base in his voice. Tiny, plastic handle gripped between two fingers, he went on, “People who are ‘honorable’ by his terms, and naive enough as well, are easily controlled.”

“Well, wise words from the expert in the field, I suppose.” Watts jabbed, the giant Mistralian man rumbling angrily but refusing to satisfy the smaller Atlesian by rising to his barbs. “Regardless, dear little Cinder, why are we waiting here again? And not, I don’t know, attending this pathetic ‘faire’, as that… Thing called it? Or even preparing for our assault on the Academy?”

“We can watch the recordings of any we are interested in at any time, for one.” Cinder slid her leg up and out, drawing the man’s - for he was a man, in regards to this at least - eyes along her mostly bare leg and then out to the television, where a silver box sat on top of it. “It’s a recorder, I’m sure you’ve seen them, Watts. Or heard of them, if you’re too sheltered for that.”

“Cute.” He drawled, the woman crossing her legs once again and smiling demurely at him in response. With a roll of his eyes, he reiterated, “Very well, then, as to why we are not currently undertaking whatever is necessary for your plans? It’s dreadfully boring, simply sitting here and watching children play at war. And I have more important matters to attend to.”

“I’ll be sure to inform Tyrian that you have ‘more important matters’ to attend to than our Queen’s commands.” Cinder threatened, the older scientist’s eyes widening at the threat and finally, blessedly, going completely still and quiet. After a moment to savor the man’s fear, she smiled and nodded her head slightly at him mockingly, “Relax, Watts. Such was only a joke. You really do need to work on getting a better sense of humor, you know, Good Doctor. So uptight and anxious.”

“Grimm take you.” The man sneered, turning to watch another ‘spar’ on the screen and reiterating yet again, “What are we waiting here, for?”

“Tyrian and sweet little Adam, of course.” The former was still a few hours out, though he was coming by Grimm and so would be here when he said he would. “Adam has a lot on his plate, at the moment. He’s going to be what cripples that thing when we attack, and he also has to coordinate raid teams to hit Beacon during the dance. One for your virus, hopefully, for later use, another four for distraction measures and to damage Beacon enough to make a point, one for his personal little project… Much to plan, and it wasn’t done today.”

“You’re not usually so patient.” Hazel observed, pouring his tomato soup into a plastic bowl with a satisfied hum. Moving to join them, he sat on the floor near Cinder’s side and added, before he started to eat, “Normally, you demand absolutist deadlines and enforce them harshly.”

“I’m harsh, Hazel, not outright unfair.” She countered, rolling her glowing eyes and sighing dramatically. “Our plans had to alter considerably to account for this new threat, I couldn’t possibly be so brazenly foolish as to punish him for my plan alterations having a… Mild number of complications and a need for time to accommodate them.”

“Hm. Whatever you say.” The man shrugged and Cinder got the impressions he didn’t quite believe her. And the impression the half-empty bottle of wine was the reason he felt that way, though that didn’t stop her refilling her glass again regardless. “I’ve fought him before. He’s a good man, under it all.”

“Sad to kill him, are we?” Watts jeered, trying to get a rise from the larger man again. “Don’t tell me you like him.”

“Yes. I am sad for that, and I do like him.” Hazel answered honestly, as always. Never one to enjoy lying, even when he absolutely had to in order to serve greater interests. Be those interests Salem’s or his own, it always unsettled him. “I’ve considered trying to talk to him, before we kill him. See what he knows, tell him the rest.”

“Recruit him, you mean?” Cinder asked, the great man shrugging noncommittally at the suggestion. “It’s… Not a terrible idea, truly. Have you brought it up to our Mistress yet? Asked permission?”

“Hm.” He shook his head, grunting through a spoonful of tomato soup.

“Well… I suggest doing so. Assuming, of course, you actually care as much as you seem to.” The only harm that came with asking for something was getting a ‘no’ after all. That and, well, being strangled by tendrils of manifested hands made of darkness, when it angered Salem. “Until tomorrow, though, we have little to actually do.”

“Don’t you have class, young lady?”

“It’s out, you... Insufferable witch doctor.” The man smirked at having gotten a rise out of her and she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, fighting to get her sudden spike of agitation back under control. Once that had been accomplished, she explained for the… Annoying man, “Orientation, officially, for transfers starts tomorrow around noon, since you asked, Watts. Ahead of the Beacon Ball. And no, I and my team arriving early is not a thing that makes us exempt from that.”

“Ah.” He smiled and nodded once, then twice, and asked, “Then I suppose I should check if you did your homework?”

“Watts-”

“I mean, young lady, if you didn’t then don’t you have work to be doing?”

“I will melt you.” She threatened, the other man smiling that shit eating little grin he smiled so often when he got a rise out of someone. “And yes, I did do my homework, Watts. For your information, it has already been turned in.”

“Oh that is just too delightful to pass up on-”

“Branwen and the Knight are about to fight, it seems.” Hazel interrupted, the other two’s eyes snapping to the screen where indeed the old Qrow was joining the man on the arena floor for an ‘exhibitionary show’.

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The scythe whistled through the air and he ducked, letting the weapon sail overhead and then countering with a thrust of his ancient, Astoran sword. Qrow saw it, or predicted it at least, and ducked back and to his shield side, where he’d be slightly harder to strike at. Scythe shifting to sword once more for whatever the man’s next plan was, the middle-aged Huntsman circled him and he stood in the arena’s center, shield locked before him - and between them - unmovingly, only turning to keep the Branwen in front of him and an eye on him through the visor of his plated helmet. Around them, the crowd watched eagerly and silently, waiting for the next move one of them made. 

Qrow, of course, was the one to make that move, reversing the grip of his greatsword and shooting in, spinning on his heel and bringing the large sword slamming against his shield with the typical sound of metal on metal. He countered with a shove from his shield, cutting out and to the side in an effort to off balance his far younger opponent and poising his sword for a following thrust. Qrow met him halfway, though, using the momentum of his strike to spin on his heel a second time and and bring a heavy, meaty strike across his armored chest. Hard enough that his foot slammed down behind himself to stop himself from being moved.

But again, the Huntsman seemed to anticipate his moves and his continued, like a ridiculous, sword wielding top that leapt into the air and lashed out for a power filled kick to the front of his helmet’s visor. Not to hurt him, he guessed, but in an effort to blind him. An effort that bore fruit, the Undead warrior lashing out with his sword in front of him, warding off following attacks by sheer volume of keen edged blade whistling through the air while his shield hand tried to yank the front of his helmet back around.

Instead, the strap - impossibly old leather and Soul infused to boot - broke under his might and he swore a, “Damn it!”

Wrenching the helmet free his eyes widened and, just in time, his shield snapped up to catch the whistling sword in the man’s hand. Smiling, he leapt away and called out to him mockingly, “Helmet strap broke?”

“Yes, though I don’t know how.” His mail coif, at least, was still in place and would protect him well enough. So long, at least, as the man didn’t put one of his massive concussive rounds through the front of his skull. 

“Bad luck, I guess.” The man smirked in a way that made the Undead wonder what joke he was missing, but he was moving before he could voice the question. 

His sword collapsed forward and Deacon’s shield came up to protect his now bare face, the Undead warrior’s knees bending to cover them as well. The man fired away and Deacon waited, using his sense of life to keep track of him, but the man never moved. He only ever fired, rounds sparking off his shield and ripping up chunks of the ground when they didn’t in turn. Eventually, finally, the man stopped firing and the undead warily peered over the edge of his shield, an eyebrow raised in question. 

“Guess I missed, eh?” The man asked casually, sword extending into a scythe he held behind himself again, grinning widely at him. “Oh well, bad luck. All out of ammo, but I had to try it, at least.”

The man was planning something, he acknowledged the base fact as his opponent once again leapt in at him, scythe spinning along with him terrifyingly. He met the first strike with his shield and stepped into the smaller man’s guard, thrusting his straight sword for the man’s chest and forcing him back for a short moment. 

Qrow, though, being the tenacious man he was, leapt back into the fray as soon as he’d gone, and Deacon was forced to withdraw his thrust before the man could hook the curve of his weapon behind his wrist. Instead, his shield cut across the front of his armored chest and Qrow leapt over him, the knight grimacing and turning to meet him. Too slow, it turned out, as the back of his scythe whistled around and caught the side of his knee before his shield could come back between them. 

The Hunter let his weapon be shoved aside and used the Undead’s own force to carry his weapon down, scraping and sparking along the floor, and then back up and around over his shoulder. The Undead swo it and swept his shield around in front of him, not even bothering to block the strike and instead summoning his Pyromancy Flame, “As a dragon, let my fire breathe!” 

The fre billowed between them in a serpenting tendril and Qrow leapt back, the Undead lunging forward to follow. And then crying out, as his foot caught a hole and, impossibly, slipped out from under him. With a surprised bark and the sound of hundreds of pounds of steel, the Undead fell to the side, tossing his shield away to catch himself. 

“I win.” Qrow asserted plainly, heavy gun levelled only an inch from his face. Smiling, and loud enough that all could hear, he added, “Real fight, I’d shoot you. This range, Aura wouldn’t even help you much. Head would snap back and your neck would crack from the force.”

“Then it would appear I have… Lost.” He grunted, rising to his feet and giving the fist sized hole a look. “You made the hole to trick me, didn’t you?”

“Yep. Watched you fight when we went out, seen a couple matches since… I paid attention.” The Undead frowned and Qrow smiled cockily in return, shrugging, offering a hand. “Good fight though, eh?”

“Indeed.” If Branwen had watched enough to learn how he moved well enough to plan this, and the man had clearly planned this matchup thoroughly, then the Undead would need to adapt his fighting style. Smiling, the Undead turned and explained for the crowd’s benefit, his students and the civilians both, “I fight too plainly, it would seem, and my colleague has watched me. A lesson there. Samity can be your downfall, and I should have borne that in mind going into this.”

It was a mistake he had made before, much to his chagrin. He’d gotten comfortable, then… Complacent. And were this a real battle, it would have been his life for it, though that was typically the price when he made a mistake. 

Such as that price worked, really. 

“Do you have words for the students, Qrow?” He asked, the man blinking in surprise from beside him, caught halfway to putting his weapon away on his waist. Seeing the confusion, he explained, “Given your victory, and the teachable nature of it, do you have wise words of a Hunstman to add to the words of a Knight?”

“Uh, yeah.” He nodded, hand reaching halfway for his flask before he caught it and hid the motion in straightening his shirt. “Uh, well, like the big guy said, mostly. Learn other kinds of fightin’ or you’ll get caught out like he did. ‘Predictable’ is just ‘dead’ with a few more words, in our line of work.”

“Such is why we host these tournaments and spars.” And why he intended on some training of his own, once the ball had passed. His death was of no concern, given his… Situation, but the deaths of those who would pay for his complacency were of a typically more permanent kind of vein. “Congratulations on a successful bout, Qrow. Even if I know you planned on challenging me today and made plans for it.”

“Hey, s’part of a Huntsman’s job too.” He accepted the offered hand and smirked, “Plannin’ is part of the gig.”

“Indeed.” He released the man’s hand and moved for his damaged helmet, speaking as he went, “Now then, who wishes to spar whom now? Given we’ve broken the ice. Or, well, the ground I suppose.”

The laughter at the mild joke was pleasant enough and, within moments, a student’s hand rose. 

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Next chapter - Beacon’s Fall and Beacon’s Ball.

That will be the end of the first major story arc for Deacon, and a break in the story while I plan the second. Which I can’t talk about, but the lesson Deacon learned here should make it relatively plain what he will want to do. DEPENDING on how long the planning stages take what with what I have going on - sister has graduation and a baby, and I am moving soon so have to work THAT out, for example - I MIGHT give this slot to a different story. 

One… Arclight Engineer?

Depends on the Reviews. XD

And yeah, that would make this first ‘Book’ of the story - bite me, Couer’s Book setup idea appeals and I wanna try it too - short. But I have been trying and enjoying shorter form stories. Arclight Foundries was my experiment with that and I loved it. Shorter form was easier and less ploddy and… I won’t dwell on it. 

I tend to ramble. XD

Also, yeah, Qrow won a spar. Because he planned it and Deacon made the mistake of not changing up his tactics as all involved said he should have.

Hope you’ve enjoyed up until now. As always, please drop a Review and stay Twisted my friends.

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Isolono :

Honestly? The Gods were kind of idiots. They let pride and self-interest screw them over plenty of times. Not using things that could kill Undead tended to be because it could kill them too. 

ABC I Luv Pie :

It will happen. 

Amputator (Guest) :

Yes, but A, they don’t NECESSARILY know that and B, the intent it to slow him. Debilitate him. Enough to get the knife in and kill him, as their plan dictates. All the Maiden’s strength in one fell blast, backed by Adam’s Semblance, in order to wound the man, with the dagger as the finishing blow. 

Artyom-Dreizehn :

Spoilers~ However, Priscilla will continue to make appearances. I just don’t detail what those will entail, or what that means.


	20. Chapter 20

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As the sun fell beyond the horizon, the ancient Undead extricated himself from the faire’s comings and goings quietly. After hours of being in the center of the brightness and lights of the celebration, surrounded by people and their joy, he was more than satisfied with his involvement. Few noticed his leaving, and none seemed perturbed by it for any of a number of reasons he could think up, and so he set to wandering around the faire’s edge. Looking in rather than being in, seeing the brightness and happiness from an entirely new angle as he made his way.

Eventually, though, he turned for home, knowing that tomorrow brought labors and another day of festivity.

“Are you retiring to your quarters already?” He paused, the door open in his hand, and turned to look over his armored shoulder. Ozpin stood a few paces back, gently wobbling his mug in his hand and watching the liquid in there spin gently in reaction. Hot chocolate he knew from the late hour, and the man’s words about it days beforehand when they’d spoken and the younger being had offered. A treat he’d enjoyed, matter of fact. “The sun has only just gone down, and the stalls are still open. I would think you would like to stay and watch the last hours of your fair, just as you did the first.”

“I confess that I am not weary.” He rumbled, turning and letting the door into the administrative wing clang closed behind him. “But I do not like watching a faire end. It saddens me to see a source of joy torn down, particularly when it is done for the inevitability of time’s march.”

“May I ask why?”

“You may, but I can offer no answer, for I have none.” He chuckled, meeting Ozpin’s dark, probing gaze with his own smiling one and a shrug. Glancing around to see if any were near, and satisfied all were still a dozen yards and more away, lost in the bright lights of the stalls, he sighed and elaborated, “Mayhaps it is from my past experiences such leanings come, mayhaps from the souls I have taken into myself, and maybe even it is something childish within me besides. In truth, I know not.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter, really. Though I think I can understand at least the sentiment, even if the why of it eludes us.” The silver haired man turned to look back at the fair, full still of laughing students, staff and even Hunters off their guard shifts milling about. In just the moment he looked, he saw a few Hunters surrounded by students and civilians, taking pictures and laughing. “I believe this has gone a long enough way in engendering faith from the people in Hunters again. Enough to call this a successful venture, at the least.”

“I am glad that you are pleased by it as well, Headmaster.” Deacon rumbled, reaching up to rest his arms by gripping the front of his armor and letting them hang comfortably and joining the man in watching the faire. “I confess to a great deal of anxiety before the faire was underway. But seeing it, and the effects of it on the people here, has assuaged them to say the very least.”

“Indeed, it has more than succeeded, seemingly, at the main goal that was intended.” Ozpin nodded, taking a short sip from his mug and sighing contentedly. With the mug, he pointed ahead of them at a cluster of civilian girls swamping an armored Hunter in questions and hugs and chuckled, “People are celebrating, and trusting the Hunters here for security. A grand change of pace, to see Hunters succeed in front of them.”

“Indeed. Though Fall made no attempt on us and thus we can do nothing against her.” Ozpin turned to him, mouth open to counter with something, and he held up a great, armored hand for peace. “I am not angered by the lack of a spoiling to the evening, Headmaster, I assure you of that much. It is merely a small cloud on an otherwise sunny occasion.”

“I see.” The man finally nodded, sighing gently, “I suppose that is one downside. Without a move made, we can’t do anything about Fall.”

“Indeed. An unavoidable, unchangeable one, but one regardless.” Sensing the mood souring, the Undead thought for a moment and finally settled on a change of subject, “Thank you for putting the effort forward to do this.”

“It’s no great cost, we’ve made Lien to cover the expenses and gained enough politically to consider any cost well paid in return. The children’s enjoyment of it is, of course, a benefit but one that is only tertiary in concern.” Ozpin’s argument was pragmatism as always, but the Undead couldn’t argue against viewing the points as the more important. The children wouldn’t be terribly happy if Beacon were to fall to destitution, after all. “A side concern, but the best laid plans lead to the best of all worlds.”

“Indeed they do. Indeed they do.” Nodding, the Undead sighed and asked, “How go the preparations for the Ball tomorrow?”

“Miss Goodwitch is supervising preparations overall, with Miss Schnee’s directions on the ground. A good learning experience for her and the other students, I felt.” He could see why, in any of a rather large number of ways, and so shrugged noncommittally at the information. A harmless enough venture, really. “I intend to volunteer myself for the day as well, and will message Mister Winchester to see if he would like to involve himself.”

“From what I understand, he already volunteered, actually.” Ozpin offered, smiling thinly in a way the archaic Undead had, “Miss Adel spoke to me about it during a break in the spars. I was interested, and she was there, so I felt I would see how your investment has been paying out in the Cardinal department.”

“And? How goes it?”

“Apparently, he tried to ask her out, not knowing she was… Not on that side of the fence, so to speak.” It took a moment for Deacon to grasp what that meant, staring in confusion at the old man. Finally he understood, mouth forming an ‘O’ of understanding and nodding as the information registered. Ozpin snorted and shook his head wryly, sighing, “Sometimes it’s enjoyable, having someone older than me.”

“I suppose I shall have to take your word on that, my friend.” He bowed his head then and Ozpin raised a brow, “But now I bid you good evening, and leave to meditate, read, and rest before the morrow comes.”

“As you like.” Ozpin nodded, “Good night, Deacon. I hope you enjoy your dance tommorrow.”

“My armor shall shine like the sun itself, Headmaster!” In spite of the scratches and dirt adorning it now, he didn’t need to mention. The other, smaller man laughed and Deacon returned it, turning and reaching for the door finally. Stepping through, he waved a hand over his shoulder and once again called, “A fine evening to you, Headmaster!”

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“Victory or loss, it matters not so long as you fought your hardest and did honor unto yourself and your opponent.” Deacon chastised, lifting a quintet of heavy wooden tables stacked atop each other easily enough and turning to head towards the auditorium, the young Winchester hoisting one behind him with a dissatisfied smirk and a black eye, already faded since the tourneys yesterday. The bruise an ugly mark from his spar with an upperclassman named Yatsuhashi. “You fought an opponent with superior training and skills both, and more experience to use them. A defeat is no shame.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He heard the boy grumble behind him but didn’t comment, knowing that a bruised pride or bruised ribs both needed time to mend. And he would give it to him, now he’d given him his humble piece of advice.

“Focus on the work, I suggest.” He grunted, leading them into the auditorium without waiting for the young man’s response, tables tucked neatly under his Beacon uniformed arms.

Inside, the auditorium had been practically transformed into a completely new room. The stage had been set up with a classical band’s tools of the trade, several musicians plucking strings as they readied themselves for the coming dance. Even if, he knew, that they would quickly be finished and replaced by the towering speakers playing music of a more… Contemporary style, as Miss Goodwitch had put it. Deep purple curtains surrounded the room, hung with streamers and lights. A thick, ruddy red velveteen carpet cover the peripheral floors as well, set under the tables that lined the walls. 

On one wall, the balcony doors had been opened and decorated, lit outside by mounted, wrought iron lanterns. A few tables were set there as well, for those that wanted to sit, talk and enjoy the evening sky. Opposite the balcony doors, a long table was set with food and drink of all descriptions, capped with a wide, glass bowl for ‘punch’. A drink he was as yet unfamiliar with, but apparently came with a risk of being ‘spiky’ and thus needing to be watched. Tables dominated the entryway as well, and a third of the auditorium with it, the last of which he was setting out to be properly set even now. 

The rest, he knew from the lacking of the otherwise dominating area rug, was the dance floor proper. Where the Headmistress stood in her uniform, watching the young Schnee buzz around the walls and manage the setting up with a small, bemused smile. Staff and students alike followed her directions, and in that mess of orders, complaints, directions and frustrations, the young heiress seemed oddly at home.

“To each a kind of battle and a kind of relish, I suppose.” He murmured, turning to a confused Cardin when the man set his table down, straightening the legs with his own and checking it was lined up properly. Sighing, he nodded towards the busy body Schnee and smiled slightly in amusement, “You or I, I am sure, would not enjoy such a thing as setting up a ball. But she seems at home and happy.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, unsure of what to say for a long moment, before finally shrugging again and grunting, “To each their own, I guess?”

“Such was my point.” He nodded, giving the young warrior a long look and then sighing finally, “Winchester, I suggest you just relax and try to enjoy your evening. However you need to, so long as you are happy and well. To each their own, hm?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I will.” He nodded and turned away, hesitating for a moment before sighing and turning back to the Undead. “Thanks for everything, Prof. Been good for me, to me, and… You know. There you go. So, uh, yeah. Have a good night yourself.”

“I shall, and you are quite welcome, young man.” He leaned on the last table for a long moment, watching the retreating young man’s back. Finally he smiled and let out a contented, satisfied breath. Turning, he checked the tables were lined up properly to the last and murmured, “As I knew it, the man had potential to be a good man. Now to watch him grow into a good warrior.”

“Talking to yourself?” He chuckled and turned, meeting Glynda’s smiling, teasing face with a nod. 

“Merely pondering aloud, Headmistress.” He answered shortly, the woman’s eyes narrowed slightly and he rushed to amend, before she could scold him. “Glyn, I mean. I was merely pondering things aloud, Glyn. A habit I developed in my travels, and youth, I am afraid. And one typically kept under stricter control than it currently is.”

“Better.” She commented, glancing around to find Weiss again and nodding at the work she was doing at the time, watching her while they spoke. “You seem to have finished the work Miss Schnee assigned you. Is that right?”

“Yes. Odd though it was for both of us for her to hand instructions and orders unto me.” She’d adapted quickly, though, only stumbling once before proceeding as though it were a matter of course. He followed the woman’s gaze to watch the young girl, flitting between two students and directing them around the floor, her partner idling a few feet away with a small smile. “The girl is an adept manager, and her partner is saintly to put up with what she clearly dislikes to keep her company.”

“Miss Rose is many things, most of which are in fact positive, but none of them is a saint.” Glynda rolled her eyes but smiled regardless, watching her work for a moment longer and sighing. With a flick of a finger, one of the chairs tucked under the table a row back from the one he’d just finished setting down slid across the carpet to her and she sat, waving a hand at the young woman, “I’m supposed to be supervising, but I seem unnecessary at the moment.”

“Are you… Upset for that fact, Headmistress?” He asked carefully, kneeling on the floor beside her, arms folded on his leg in front of him. She gave him a look caught somewhere between reproach, aggravation and surprise at something he couldn’t discern. Likely, if he had to guess, his forwardness in asking. “I’m curious, and you seem distraught, so I would hear you out if you wish it.”

“Ah, I… See.” The woman blinked, then shrugged as though resigning herself to it and unsure of how to react beyond that, “I’m not upset, per se, no. Merely… I don’t know, miffed, I suppose.”

“Why?” His curiosity was insatiable, at times, and when she glanced to him again he grimaced and murmured an apology, along with, “If you wish to speak of it, of course, Glyn. I am here to listen, not to interrogate.”

“Ah, well, that is…” Her eyes glanced to his, then to the young Schnee, and then to the floor, a grimace stretching across her face. For a long moment, she was silent, staring blankly at the floor and drumming her hands on her lap. Finally, after fully a minute, she asked in a quiet, weak voice, “Do you… Know what the Schnee family is?”

“Dust traders from Atlas, a decently old family of them as well from my readings.” He shrugged, waving towards the distant, ignorant girl working with a pleasant smile across the room from them. “She is one of three children, the middle one as point of fact. Her elder sister is military and disinherited, for it as well.”

“They’re also quite influential, politically and financially. And young Miss Schnee is brilliant in her own right, a highly trained and quite literally born manager.” She finished for him, discounting and ignoring entirely the unsavory words to be said about the family and Faunus. Instead, she took a deep breath and asked, “Why do you think Ozpin put her in charge of this over myself? Why do you think he put her on a team of people he already had a vested interest in? Miss Rose and her eyes, Miss Xiao Long and her parentage and family, ala Qrow?”

“I do not confess to know.” He murmured, suddenly anxious of the conversation. It was going somewhere darker than he had initially expected, and while he would not run from what he stepped into willingly… “Do you, Headmistress?”

“Ozpin is… Not a conversation for here, Deacon.” She grunted shortly, standing abruptly and asking in a low, quiet tone, “Do you mind retiring with me until the dance proper begins? Scant few hours, and I would quite enjoy speaking to you about this. As you are offering, I mean, and there are… Few shoulders to lean on, so to speak, in the Academy what with my position and all. Formalities and professionalisms I am quite sure you are rather ambivalent about.”

“As you like.” He rose, following behind her dutifully and anxiously. He caught Winchester’s eyes by the door, talking idly with Velvet while he nursed a bottle of water, and the man’s gaze flicked to the headmistress. Then the battered man nodded and smiled, and raised his thumb to him as he stepped through the door. On his other side, red eyes of a very specific exchange student met his for a moment before he blinked and she was gone. He turned to look for her, but even in the sparsely populated room, the bright red eyes and green hair didn’t stand out, “Curious people, these students… And damnation upon these Semblances.”

But what had the woman wanted, he wondered. And why had she been watching him so? Had he not turned to look at Cardin, he’d likely not have seen her in the first.

“Deacon?” The Headmistress questioned, having not heard the murmur. She stood a few feet ahead, half turned with her hands clasped tightly in front of her and her shoulders stiff, and he sighed at having caused her more disquiet. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing of note, Headmistress.” He rumbled, smiling in a way he hoped would calm her somewhat. Even he could tell she was upset and anxious, after all, though whether that was for knowing her so long or her obviousness he could not say. With a wave of his hand, he grunted, “After you, Glyn.”

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“They left a short while ago. He spotted me for a moment, but I caught him in my Semblance and got away before he thought about it.” Emerald finished reporting through her Scroll to her Mistress, terrified to the pit of her stomach of reporting the mild failure. But somehow less terrified than hiding it and being caught out later. “They talked, the Headmistress seemed… Upset, I don’t know, and they left. Her leading him.”

“The Headmistress and her special little knightly friend alone, isolated…” Cinder’s voice paused across the audio-line, and not for the first time, Emerald wished desperately they had been able to make a secure video line. If only so she could see Cinder’s face to discern her mood at the information, the woman’s voice trained to convey as little as possible. Finally, the woman’s voice returned, “Was he wearing his armor, by any chance? I’d heard he would be attending in it.”

“No, ma’am.” She answered shortly, “He was helping set the dance up, decorating and moving tables in I mean, so I… I guess he figured it would get in the way.”

“And his sword?”

“No, ma’am, he didn’t- Hold on, a second.” She answered again, leaning against the wall of a hallway and watching a couple walk by for a moment. They wouldn’t have any reason to suspect her, she knew, but just in case she focused and forced the illusion of empty space onto them. It hurt her head, but it only took a moment and they were gone, and with the two teachers she’d been following in a room down the hall past her she didn’t want even passive witnesses. Finally, she spoke again, “Sorry, Ma’am, there was a couple. Wanted to use my Semblance, avoid notice.”

“Good decision, Emerald.” The young woman would have been lying if she said even the mild compliment didn’t set her heart beating. She couldn’t dwell on it for long though, because Cinder went on, “Now, his sword?”

“No, he didn’t have it.”

“Good, good. Wonderful, even.” And she could hear, for once, the happy inflection in the woman’s voice. A small thing, but something she’d learned to pick up in the last couple years. Sounding pleased, the half-Maiden went on, “Now then, you are to follow them. Monitor them, and inform me of any changes in their plans and where they are headed. Inform me of any changes. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. I have to go, now, our dear friends need help getting onto the campus. I’ll inform you if you are needed.” The Scroll-line was cut then and Emerald pushed off the wall, sliding it into her shirt for safekeeping and turning to watch the door down the hall idly. 

A waste of time, she felt, to watch a door but if Cinder ordered it…

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“Off the line finally are we? I’d thought you’d be standing there forever, Scroll to your ear like a teenager talking to that… Child of yours.” Watts sneered, standing across the little mostly dirt pathway that led out from the crop fields, where even now mindless, autonomous drones busied themselves tending to the fields while the afternoon sun shined down from an overcast sky. 

“Do you want to bait or do our jobs?” She asked quietly, sliding the Scroll into her dress’ top and raising an eyebrow at the man. He responded in kind, leaning across from her on another tree like she herself was doing, and the woman explained, “I can only focus on one of them and get any real quality out of the effort, so you can pick. Our jobs or you being a snide jackass.”

“Oh, I can do both and outdo you at each of them while I do so, I assure you.” The man sneered again, moustache twitching with amusement as he pushed off the tree, arms spread as though inviting her. “Well, what is it? What reports do you have so you can finally make a decision on how to do this? I do assume it includes a way to get the damn man out here, first and foremost. Hm? Or do you need to leave that to your better?”

“If you don’t wipe that smirk off your face...” She trailed off, a hand raising and fire sparking in her palm, the other holding the fancy, quite obviously magical knife in her hand. The latter of which he most earnestly reacted to, flinching and watching the blade warily. Mercury stepped up beside her protectively as well, as though he truly mattered in any fight between the two when them, but she made a note of it regardless and asked, “Now, do you really want to fight here and now? I would rather not, I have need of you.”

“I’m sure you do, you can’t think of a decent plan that will work without me, after all.” Watts barbed carefully, stepping back and straightening his fine clothes haughtily. Smirking, he added, “Why else would I be here?”

“Sacrificial pawn?” She tried, smirking at the dour look that brought on.

“You wound me, my girl. Absolutely wound me.” The man recovered quickly and whined in faux suffering, reaching up to twiddle the end of his moustache mockingly. Or she expected it was meant to be that way, though she saw it more as a weekend villain’s routine. “Like a bag in the wind, slapping me in the face.”

“A rock to the head would far better explain your decision to smuggle in a change of clothes.” She sighed, shaking her head and smirking, gesturing at his normal, garish outfit. “What was it you said? Ah, yes, ‘dressing for success is something for the best’. Some nonsense to that effect, correct?”

“Not as though that is something you would understand you insufferable-”

“Do you Humans always bicker like this?” Adam asked, kneeling at the cliff’s edge and watching the forest below, hood raised and sword laid on the ground beside him, still thrumming gently no doubt with Cinder’s power. Shaking his head, the Faunus sighed, “It’s exhausting, listening to this.”

“I agree.” Hazel rumbled, standing beside the terrorist with a long, dark green coat on and a hood drawn over his own head to hide himself. As though his size, bare forearms, and pouch of Dust crystals weren’t a dead giveaway for anyone that knew him of who he was. Voice grating in what Cinder knew meant he was angry, he added, “We should focus on our jobs. Not argue like children.”

“Finally, a Human I can agree with, as strange an experience as it is.” Adam sighed, turning to look over his right shoulder through his mask. Not for the first time she noted his favoring it and wondered, idly in the way that she knew meant she’d never bother, why that was while he spoke. “Cinder, tell us what the plan is. We need to know our places for your planned little dance.”

“Is your man ready on his end?” She preambled, for the evident reason that none of her plan making would mean a thing if the most important part fell apart. “I already gave you the plans for the White Fang, so I am hoping they are in place.”

“Banesaw is ready to launch four raids, and our men and women smuggled in small satchels of explosives in this little fair as well.” Adam answered, standing and turning to her to speak. Now deigning to show some respect, as they had gotten to the work he respected her in. “Some of our strongest hauled in a few stolen Bullheads through the woods, thanks to your man’s Semblance with the Grimm, and they will ride those up at our infiltrator’s bombs going off.”

“Good work, Mercury. I’m pleased that you saw Banesaw’s preparation through to a successful end.” The praise was entirely false, and the man knew it as well, but the deception was a needed one. 

Even for his revenge, as Adam was currently at least, he’d never work with Salem directly if he knew entirely what she was. Magic was one thing, that was a distinctly not Grimm thing, and half explanations about her Mistress’ abilities mixed with truths and falsehoods both, were what he needed. Perhaps once he’d put a great, victorious strike against a great place and symbol like Beacon, she may be tempted to try and bring him into the fold. A powerful ally, in large part controlling the White Fang and allowing her and Salem another avenue to political clout.

For now, though, there was work to do, “He will come here either by Emerald luring him here, or by another method I have devised, assuming it works. A lack of surety,” she added, raising a hand for silence when Watts made to interrupt her, “that is why Emerald is in Beacon. If option A fails, Option B will be employed. And if that fails, Tyrian is on the roofs, waiting for my word on whether to target Amber or Deacon.”

“Once Deacon is here, I will distract him and you, dear Adam, will hit him as hard as you physically can. Wound him, cripple him, either was as long as it is enough for Hazel and Watts to further it if need and, ultimately, for me to get in with the dagger.” She finished simply, shrugging and smiling at the pure simplicity of the plan. “While we deal with him, in two cases, Tyrian will deal with Amber thanks to Watts’ bypass programs-”

“You’re very welcome.”

“-and in the end, all our goals ought be accomplished.” She concluded, adding offhandedly, “In the worst cases, our main goals are all accomplished. Is that a satisfactory plan, doctor?”

“I believe it-”

“Oh, apologies, I forgot that Atlas revoked your doctorate.” Cinder smiled mockingly, sighing in feigned contrition while the man fumed quietly, hands curled into fists. Shrugging, she amended her statement, “Mister Watts, does that seem like a viable plan by your standards?”

“I believe it is.” The man ground out, letting out a long breath and recovering, smiling once again and tilting his head to the side mockingly, grinning toothily at her in a way that just screamed he was going to get his back at her. “You’ve done very well, young lady. Would you like to call mother and- Oh no, I forgot, sorry about that.”

“You snivelling little-”

“Humans!” Adam snarled, sighing and shaking his head tiredly, clearly already exasperated once again “Can we please focus on the issues at hand? We have an apparent demi god, or whatever he may actually be as that seems up for debate to my knowledge, to put in the ground he has so kindly consecrated for the occasion. And the sun is setting, so the Beacon Ball should be about to set underway soon enough.”

“A fair point, Adam. A very, very fair point in fact.” Cinder conceded, rolling her shoulders and sighing, unhappy to be stuck fighting in a school uniform of all things. But unwilling, to say the least, to go get changed after making a point to prick Watts over the same exact thing. That would get weeks of snide remarks in the best of worlds, and she wouldn’t deal with it. Nodding, she ordered, “Watts, Hazel, you take one side of the clearing. Adam, the other. We direct his attention, and Adam goes in for the crippling strike. Understood?”

The group answered in a variety of yeses, some more snide than others, and dispersed into the woods to either side of her. Glancing at the knife in her hand she smiled and then sighed, murmuring, “Wonder if this will work… But based on how his magic works, through religious prayers, it should.”

Kneeling beside the two circles, grass growing tall around them both but bending away oddly as though in reverence, she brought the dagger up. In two long, smooth cuts, she carved through the dirt. The earth there split and cracked, spreading to encompass both circles as she stood and stepped away warily, before she smiled to herself. A smile that on any other face or in any place not equipped with religiously significant, smoldering pair of what she assumed to be prayer circles or something to the effect. Flicking her Scroll out, she sent a message to Tyrian and Banesaw both through a group chat and smiled. Now, she knew, it was a waiting game. A half hour and she’d set Emerald into motion, in the worst case. 

In the best case… She’d have an irate titan coming her way. 

Perhaps not the best plan or idea, but one did as one had to.

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It didn’t take but a scant couple minutes to return, once again, to the headmistress’ dorm. Inside, the woman hushed his question and directed him to sit while she made tea, and then scowled until he, hands raised in surrender, did as she ordered. Easing into the chair across from the kitchen, he watched the woman set to work making their tea, this time using her hands, not her Semblance, and he wondered for that for the briefest of moments before the obvious answer struck him.

She was busying herself as a distraction, and using the time to collect her thoughts. An answer so simple as to have been obvious in anyone else aside from the usually so unyieldingly stoic and upright woman.

“Here.” She murmured, setting his little mug down in front of him, setting a plastic jar of honey between them along with some sugar as she say down. Smiling, she grabbed a spoonful of sweet white and stirred it into her drink, explaining without need, “Vacuoan honey is expensive, but my favorite. Particularly mixed into fine Mistralian grey tea, I find it… Relaxes me, and lifts my mood quite a bit besides.”

“I see.” He murmured, watching the woman take a short sip of the hot tea and mirroring her. After a quiet second, to let her have her moments to gather herself further, he complimented, “It is indeed quite good, this… Mistralian Grey, as you called it.”

“Yes, it is. My importing it for the faculty is, in large part, why Ozpin always wins his arguments over the drink budget with me.” She paused and grimaced then, setting the mug on the table with a muted thump of ceramic on wood. Saying the man’s name had probably brought her to a point she felt she needed to explain herself, and so she sighed, “You understand his… Reincarnation, I suppose that would be the term as strange as it still sounds to my ears- I trust you know it well enough?”

“He has explained the gist of it to me.” He nodded his great, Undead head, noting with some mild interest that he would soon need another cut. The woman nodded and he went on, hoping to grant her as much time as possible to gather her thoughts properly, unsure of how else to make her feel better. “I sense he hides much from me, beyond the Maidens and his curse I mean. It feels as though there’s a secret hidden somewhere under his words, and I can’t place what it might be.”

“He keeps things to himself often enough to ruffle feathers, I agree.” She nodded, smiling sadly and meeting his eyes, her age for once showing in the softness and resignation there. Like someone who’d not seen it all, but seen enough of it to tell what would come next. With a sigh, she stared down into her tea and went on in a fragile voice, “He’s ageless, and I… I’m not. In ten, twenty years, I will be getting weak. And him? He’ll be getting ready to be young again.”

“Envy?” He asked gently, never accusing and instead merely asking. The woman scowled unsurely and he explained, “Envy is not wrong to hold. I merely wish to hear how you are feeling, and render aid, if able.”

“I… Perhaps, yes. I-I suppose there’s a bit of envy.” She smiled sheepishly at the admission and hesitated, as though expecting a reprimand or reprisal for it. Instead he simply nodded understandingly and she sighed, “But that… That’s not what this is about. Not really.”

“Then what is, Glyn?” He couldn’t help in a fight he didn’t know about.

“He… He is ageless, and so to him, there is always a need for new allies. Always a worry about your current ones faltering, changing… Aging.” She swallowed, took a sip of tea, and then finished in a shaky voice, “And always a need to… Look for replacements for them. Replacement Hunters, Maidens, teachers, soldiers, politicians… Headmistresses.”

“Ah. Miss Schnee, then. And the dance” He nodded, understanding immediately as she said it where the pain and anxiety he saw etched across her body came from. The woman’s legs pressed against each other, shoulders straight and stiff, but trembling, and finger rubbing the outside of her mug anxiously. “Ozpin is training her, you think? For the job of working under him here, at Beacon?”

“Or Atlas, or Vacuo- He moves between them, now and again, he says. Whichever is most convenient.” She paused for a second, to think he assumed, and then shook her head, “But… Given the Headmasters currently employed, I would wager Mistral or, yes, here. Beacon. My job. A job I won’t be well suited to in twenty years.”

“Mortality is the way of things.” He rumbled, trying to console in a weak way.

“Says the million year old, immortal knight?” She smiled to show there was no fire behind the sarcasm, and he grimaced in return. With a sigh, the woman shrugged and took a deep, shaky breath. “I suppose it’s just… Painful. I’ve given him decades of loyalty, forewent having my own career for him, gave up on having a-” She caught herself and he blinked at a strange sensation, like ants crawling up his legs, before shaking it off and listening to the woman again. “I gave up so much, and not even dead yet, he’s shopping for my replacement.”

“I will speak to him about this affront.” He grumbled, rising and taking a single step before the woman grabbed his arm to stop him, stammering out his name. He glanced between her fingers around his wrist and the woman for a moment and sighed, “You don’t want me to. Do you?”

“He… He has his reasons, Deacon.” She nodded, easing back into her seat and letting him go, flicking a finger to summon her honey to her again, and her teapot a moment later. With a small smile, she shrugged, “His actions hurt, that is true, but… I will live.”

“That doesn’t make this acceptable.”

“No, but it’s necessary. And Ozpin’s job… His duty, it’s more important than how I feel.” She sighed, offering him a small, thankful smile. “It still hurts, but talking about it helped. Thank you, Deacon. I-”

“Gah!” He snarled, staggering away and lashing out with a hand to catch himself on the other wall. Too hard, his palm struck the drywall, the material breaking under it as he grasped at his chest and fell to a knee.

“Deacon!” The Headmistress was at his side in a moment, a hand on his chest, the other on his back, and her eyes wide with surprise and worry. “Deacon, what’s wrong? Are you alright? What is happening, I-I don’t-”

“I am fine, Headmistress.” He snarled, rising and giving the woman a stern look. She flinched and he sucked in a breath, murmuring an apology she accepted with a wave and a nod as she stepped away from him and looked him up and down warily. “Someone destroyed my holy site, with… With something familiar. Something… Powerful, and ancient, and-”

He froze as he realized, and felt the realization crawl up his skin like fire and ice. Beside him, the blonde woman blinked, he rown fears forgotten for now, and asked, “What? Something powerful, ancient, and… What? Deacon, what is-”

“Priscilla.” He snarled, interrupting her and turning to her in the same moment, “Glynda, we need to get to my shrine and-”

Around them, thunder cracked and the building shook violently, the woman crying out and staggering towards her table for shelter on instinct. His arms wrapped around her and her turned, pulling her with him and pressing her between himself and the wall for shelter. The shaking stopped a moment later and they rose, a distant siren beginning to wail as muted staccatos of gunfire began to crack out in every direction but one. Every single direction, a battle, save a single, entirely separate and entirely silent, direction. 

“I am going to my shrine, to discover who has staged this.” He growled, kneeling and reaching within himself, calling on his Souls and Darksign to come to him. Both answered and he grunted, his long, trusty winged spear materializing in a crimson shower of fire, ash and sparks. He caught it before it landed and turned to look down on the woman, “You are needed to defend the Academy.”

“If this is a trap, and that’s why you’re going, you need help.” She argued, “Qrow can be there in moments.”

“If this is happening, it is to target me and Amber both. One of us is immortal.” He pointed out, a series of gunshots sounding down the hall followed by an explosion of some kind that had him grimacing. If Priscilla’s dagger were involved, he was technically wrong, but... “ I can handle myself, I have fought gods. A woman with fractured power she doesn’t understand-

“If it is Fall, then you can not-”

“And besides,” he interrupted, “there is not the time for debate and discourse on this, Glyn. I will deal with them, you will deal with the Academy’s attackers. And you may chastise me for it once the dust has settled.”

“Fight with us.”

“My site has been damaged, desecrated.” He grunted hotly, not deigning to add that Priscilla’s memory had been as well. Shaking his head, he growled low and hot, “Honor demands I reprise that. Honor, oaths, faith- Everything I am demands it, and there is no time for you or others to spend coming with me. So go, protect the Maiden, and come when you are done if you are able.”

“I…” She sighed and finally nodded, “Fine. As you say.”

“Very good.” He rumbled, stepping forward and pulling the door open, letting the woman go ahead of him and turn. Without looking back, she took off at a jog down the halls, towards the sounds of fighting nearby. Sighing he turned and began to make his way in the opposite direction, teeth grinding together and lightning crackling in his wake. “Priscilla… Cinder Fall, you have made grave mistake in besmirching her name.”

And she would pay for it. A blood tax, withdrawn at the end of a spear as ancient as her pilfered, misused relic.

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Okay, so, the next chapter of this will be the complete climax to the Beacon Arc. Whoo~!

I can’t wait to write that~! It’ll be a little weird, I feel, and I’m anxious about it but… I hope you all will like it. This story has been harder than some, to plan and get running with all the pieces I have in play. 

I know that it hasn’t been the best at all times, but… Thanks for reading, and Reviewing. It means a lot. 

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Ferdiad :

Will work on incorporating exterior perspectives in the next arc. It’s a great suggestion. Thank you.

CJ Hoax :

Nein. A fragment of Priscilla’s scythe. Good guess though, Tracer would be another example of what I could have used.


	21. Chapter 21

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Behind him, he could hear the distant sounds of gunfire, staccato and more singular barks, of those who had dared attack Beacon and their defenders. Atlas’ soldiery and drones, Beacon’s own less capable machines and armed guards and, of course, the Hunters both student and teacher, all rose against the assault on their home. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he saw the fires glowin on the other side of the building, and in the distance, the billow of dust and ash that meant a building had fallen. High above, a Nevermore screeched, lured by the sight of fire and emotional reactions to the attack, and lances of fire, literally in two cases, swatted it from the sky as it loomed too low for its own safety.

War, if on a small scale, was ever a brutal and climactic machine of evolution.

Somewhere in that mess, he was sure, Glynda would be in that fight, crushing those before her under a deluge of their fellows, their weapons, and detritus around them, like a dark avatar of retribution, ripping asunder those who dared to lay a hand on her home and her students. Around her would be students, armored and garbed as they were for battle, and soldiers fighting beside them. With blood and fury and fire, they would push through the enemy, win the day, then turn to the Grimm their fight would summon and win the day yet again. First against fire and steel, and then next again against fur and bone, they would stand and win. Honor for the fallen, comradery and credit for the wounded, and glory for those many who escaped unmarred and fought their hardest.

But that wasn’t his to pursue, not now at any rate. No, his was the fury, righteous and hot, that bubbled in his veins like liquid fire, cracked the concrete he trod upon like so much glass with each titan’s step, and roared in his ears like the dragons who had raged against him when he found them. The dirt and soil fared no better than the concrete once he left the concrete path between the crop fields behind Beacon, the soil and plants crushed under his weight, compacted in the way a path would naturally be after hundreds of men and women walked it. 

Evidence of his fury, leaving the marks of hundreds in each step, the poetic aspect of his mind offered without prompting.

“Fall!” He and his rage filled, passion driven, faith directed mind as he broke through a bus obscuring his path, one he had a thousand times brushed around before. Now as broken as Cinder would be, he knew when he saw her, standing across the clearing - his clearing - with her back to the cliff. Between them, the cracked, smoking, despoiled circles he had used for his holiest of prayers. Fuel for his rage and indignation.

“Ah, Professor Knight.” The woman smirked, smoothing her red dress with one hand, the other kept behind her back. With the same free hand she waved at the clearing around them and in as innocently cruel a voice as he wagered she could manage, asked, “Do you like the festivities I organised? Your little fair was just so much fun, I felt I just had to return the favor to show my gratitude properly.”

“What have you done…” He murmured, snarling after a moment, pointing his winged spear at her and baring his teeth, “What have you done, Fall! You desecrate my holiest of sites, attack a place of innocence, all for what? The power of the girl you crippled?”

“Oh no, this get together is all for you, dear Knight.” The woman sneered, pacing along the cliff edge tauntingly, one wary eye always on him even as she turned to pace back and forth. “All the chaos, the fighting, the death out there? All for you, dear Knight. My mistress and I wanted you to feel right at home, a proper welcome for you, whatever you truly are.”

“For me…” In that moment, he wished for nothing more than to cross the clearing and throw her from that cliff she was so interested in treading, but the knowledge of the trap he’d walked into stayed his hand, alongside the sensation of life around him, knowing they were her allies come to strike him down. 

Walking into a trap was one thing, throwing himself where she clearly wanted him to be, from how she’d positioned herself, was another entirely.

“Whatever game you are playing, surely your lot knows you won’t be walking away in any shape to attack the Maiden after this.” He stated plainly, stepping to the edge of his broken, desecrated circles and scowling angrily as his blood boiled. Patience, he chided himself, fingers flexing along the haft of his ancient spear, resting the base against the ground in front of him. Meeting her eyes and seeing her smile, his own narrowed and he asked, “But you knew that already, and so have a separate detachment sent along to make that attempt.”

“The Maiden is a side project at this point, really, but what can I say?” She shrugged and chuckled in a cold way, eyes ever sharp and watching him carefully. A cruel pantomime of mirth and excitement that sent a chill up his spine and fire through his veins. “I’m a bit on the greedy side, I suppose. And you deserved a nice party, to make you feel at home.”

“Hmph. As you like, glorified harlot that you are, but if you think this is like my home you are sorely misinformed.” Or rather, if she thought his home was typically like this, though he didn’t dwell on it beyond that. Instead, he turned his attention to the woods, watching the edge of the darkened forest warily. “Now then, girl, as you know enough of what I am to challenge me with a shard of Priscilla’s scythe, I am going to ask where you got it.”

“I got it from my queen.” She didn’t expand beyond that, and the Undead knew not to bother asking. 

Then she finally brought the other hand around, her left one, with the dagger in her grip carefully, looking over its sharp, fragmented shard of what once was. His knuckles tightened around his spear until the wood, ancient and infused with Souls and Titanite, creaked in protest. She saw his reaction and chuckled, continuing her pacing while the presences he could discern around him moved closer. Readying themselves, no doubt, for the attack in a way that had him wondering if they knew exactly how he sensed and noticed people’s presences. 

“You mentioned a party, Fall.” He rumbled, Pyromancy flame wreathing his hand in his fury made reality, the bright reds and oranges crackling around his fist audibly. The woman’s eyes snapped onto it in wariness and he smirked, asking in a low tone, “Did you invite our guests, though? Or did you intend them a surprise, not knowing the extent of my ability to discern them?”

The attack seemed prophetic in that it prompted exactly the reaction he’d wanted, the ambushers reacting to their plan’s foiling with an attack to seize his even feigned openness to it. To one side, he saw a flash of blue and his palm snapped up and then swept to the side in an arc, fire billowing out into the trees before him and earning a surprised cry from his attacker. On his other, Hazel swept in, upper body bare for reasons he didn’t know, arm cocked back in a no doubt powerful blow. Extinguishing his Pyromancy flame for the moment he stepped back in response, fast enough that wind stun his bare arms and his vision swam as the Undead’s body pushed his speed to the furthest it could go.

The fist swept before him as the man’s feet slammed into the dirt before him and Deacon brought his simple spear around and across, cracking across his foe’s chest loudly. Hazel ignored the welts it raised entirely and grabbed it, attempting to yank the weapon free for only a moment before the Undead wrenched it even further to the right, off-balancing him as his blue-garbed ally swept in. 

The Undead felt the metal of the leg that slammed into the back of his head and grunted at the flare of pain it brought, letting Hazel stagger away and turning to glare over his shoulder as the younger, silver-haired man staggered away from his back. “You are yet young, Black.” He warned the man, the only warning he would grant him, regardless of whether the young fighter knew that or not. “Leave or I will kill you, this is no battle where mercy shall be offered, or your youth considered before I act.”

“If you want to talk about a lack of consideration about age, you should talk to Ozpin.” Hazel rumbled before him, hands holding two pairs of glowing, bright crystals in each hand. Crystals that, before the Undead’s eyes, he brought down into the joints of his arms and then into his hips, lightning crackling along his body as he roared, “He’s the one you should be the enemy of!”

Without a comment in return, the Undead warrior thrust the tip of his spear towards the dark skinned man’s face, forcing him back and then turning to force Mercury back with the whistling spear tip as well. Now, he bellowed fire in Hazel’s direction and moved on Mercury, pressing him back into the woods that even now began to choke and smolder with smoke, ash and fire. The young man knew better than to attack him, spending the few seconds that Deacon focused on him backpedaling and focusing his entire being on evading his rapid thrusts and whistling swings. 

Then he turned, thrusting at where he felt Hazel to be, forcing the furious, charging man to stop and lean to the side or be impaled through the throat by his long spear. He slammed his leg up to boot Hazel back a foot and used the force to turn, spear whistling through the air before Mercury could capitalize on the opening. The silver-haired man ducked under it and rolled, landing on his back and lashing up towards the Undead’s face with both legs and whistling air. He took the blow rather than move, gritting his teeth as his head was forced back and his other arm lanced up into the youngest man’s side. 

The blow hurled the man up and into the air, sending him sprawling across the clearing towards his mistress where he pushed himself up on hands and knees, hand pressed to his side while he hacked. Hazel’s fist lanced up into his face once and the other answered, slamming home again and driving him back into a tree hard enough to crack the bark beneath his skin. The Undead thrust into his leg and Hazel snarled, blood flowing forth freshly as Deacon wrenched the weapon free, drawing a line in the soil made up of the man’s blood.

Hazel shoved out from the wood with a roar and Deacon caught the arm that swung at him by the wrist, turning on his heel and hurling the man across the footpath into and then through the tree on the side the man had come from. Still the man fought on to stand, bleeding and with no doubt broken ribs, and the Undead closed on him, slamming a foot up and into his jaw hard enough he saw a tooth mixed into the blood from his burst lip. Before he could fall to his back the leg lashed to the side and into Hazel, booting him out and into the clearing as well. 

His eyes met Cinder’s as he stormed into the cleaning, a fist slamming into Mercury’s head as he rose and surged towards him, driving him onto his back with a cry of pain. He left the an there, reeling, and booted Hazel to his back as well, resting a boot atop it and holding him there. Pinned by a titan, the bloody-lipped warrior could only grunt and struggle, hands gripping his calf and shin and trying to pry him off. A spear levelled at his throat ended that rather soundly, the Undead meeting his eyes until his hands flopped to his sides and Hazel, oddly calm, looked to Cinder.

“Your plan looks to have failed, Fall. A fact that should have been evident at the onset, against one such as me and what I am.” Deacon snarled, bearing down on the man below with more of his weigh. Beside him, Mercury staggered upright and away, a hand pressed to his side and face pinched in pain and eyes narrowed in anger. “No I loathe to do so,” he began, meeting Cinder’s flat face with a small, confident smile, “I must. Surrender, Fall, and your compatriots will be allowed to live.”

“And me?” She asked, an eyebrow raising coyly while a foot slid back and she stepped to the side, away from his spear arm. Turning so her knife-arm was between them, and the only threat to him with it, she asked in a sly voice, “What about me, if I surrender?”

“You desecrated my holiest site, your life is entirely forfeit.” He answered simply, adding after a moment, “You may only buy your compatriots’ lives, not your own. That is non-negotiable, and I will already have to make effort to not relish your just destruction. These two,” he nodded between Mercury and Hazel, “and the third, behind me, however, may be spared your justice.”

Looking over his shoulder, he met the gaze of another stranger, standing two yards away where he himself had broken into the clearing prior. The man turned one should towards him, fist holding the scabbard of his sword and the arm facing him holding the handle of his blade, jaw clenched in some manner of effort and arms trembling slightly to match it. But what could he be struggling with-

“Semblance!” His eyes widened and he turned, glaring hate at the smiling women before him and thrusting his long spear towards her. 

The woman dodged back, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, and to the side. Away from him, leaving the space behind him clear. Behind him, he heard the man cry out, and then searing pain at the join of his right shoulder that sent him staggering to the side, off the man below him, a wave of angry, crackling red sputtering through the air past the cliff. It disspiated in the air and he snarled, raising his left arm into a defensive stance before him. His right arm, however, spear still gripped tight in its fist, fell the other way and lay still, thudding on the ground and spraying red across the soil. 

Hazel and mercury were moving inside a moment in spite of their injuries, but the Undead was undeterred by the loss of his favored limb. He spun, lashing out with a backhand that Mercury managed to catch on the leg he’d aimed to kick with, the limb curling defensively just in time to catch the blow. As the younger man was batted aside, the Undead turned, slamming a kick into Hazel’s shin and staggering him back under the titanic force. Skin split under the blow, leg bleeding, but hazel seemed uncaring for the injuries still.

Semblances were an annoyance, truly, he decided as he lumbered forward and pivoted sharply at his waist to counter the man’s now stumbling attack. His fist slammed home into Hazel’s shoulder and something broke inside it, the arm going limp entirely as the massive man stumbled out of reach, arm broken beyond use. The stranger joined the fray then, fast enough to seem a blur of black and red even to him, and cut a deep furrow across his back that drew blood and exposed ribs. 

Then, thunder cracked and roared in his ears as the Undead screamed in earnest pain for the first time in the entire fight, lightning from the sky arcing down and into him. He stumbled to the side, clothes burned and blacked, skin no better along his shoulders. Bleeding from his severed arm and down his back in bright rivulets, he stumbled towards Beacon and met Cinder’s eyes flatly. Eyes that burned with fire like fury, the woman lifting into the air at the cliff edge slightly, hands holding flames and wind stirring under her. Mercury and the stranger spared her stunned glances, but Hazel did not. The woman ignored them all, of course, smiling haughtily as he stepped away from them, bringing his good, if numbed from the lightning, arm up in front of him to defend himself. 

“It was quite chivalrous of you to offer me and mine such a generous surrender, Deacon.” She smiled, a cold thing that vanished as her off hand again reached behind her and drew for the the knife, the woman looking at it curiously for a moment. “I don’t know what exactly you are, but my mistress says this will kill you permanently. I’ve seen what it does to a single, normal man, but I wonder what it will do to you?”

“All which you shall find out is the feeling of having your soul ripped from your very body.” Again, he summoned his Pyromancy flame and, in a low, threatening voice laced with all the fury his titanic body could contain, he snarled and moved. Before they could react, he knelt suddenly, slamming his fist into the ground and sending out a wave of fire hot enough that the dirty baked into sheets around him to ward them off. Kneeling, he began to pray, “And as the warrior bled and battled, the goddess did see him and- Agh!”

A gun cracked once, and then thrice more, rounds ripping through his jaw and violently whipping his head to the side. His remaining hand came up, feeling the bone and flesh hanging from his ruined jaw and he snarled in realization, the sound wetter and hollower without most of his mouth. Turning to the man in the fine clothes leaning against a tree, golden gun resting in the crook of his left elbow, bracing his right hand still, the Undead’s eyes narrowed. Another round cracked forth before he could move towards Watts and he snarled as the bullet tore through flesh and bone, turning to see the front of his jaw skitter across the ground. 

“Your magic requires speech, Deacon Knight.” Cinder explained, the battered warrior turning to look at her cruel, pleased smile, “My plan was to rob you of that, and cripple you. A plan that has succeeded completely. Now, for the last step of the plan. Watts!”

The pistol cracked twice more, the rounds tearing into his left kneecap this time. He snarled and staggered to the side, Hazel lunging at him and slamming his fists down into his wounded side’s shoulder hard enough that when they came away, his little fingers hung limp and broken. He was forced down on his wounded knee by the force and tried to rise, before the hands came down on him again and forced him down again. On his good side, mercury shot forward with bursts of Dust or air, slamming gunfire fast kicks into his head. The Undead snarled and lashed out, catching the man by a foot when he tried to evade and, using him as a screaming, breathing weapon, beat back Hazel for breathing room.

Trying to rise again, he hurled Mercury out and away, far over the cliff to fall to his demise. All thoughts of mercy, now, were as soundly perished from his mind as Mercury himself was now and he turned at the sound of feet. The red-bladed man swept to the side and cut across his chest, the Undead parried with his arm, protecting his more vital organs and then lashing out with a powerful left hook he’d hoped to catch Adam in the jaw. The man was faster than Mercury, though, and danced back just out of reach before Deacon felt Hazel slam his body into his back, kicking his feet into the backs of his knees to force him to them. 

“Adam!” Cinder called, lighting cracking down on him as his sword came up and he snarled in pain, the weapon coming away glowing and his arms shaking, sweat beading along his face’s bare parts. Seeing it, Deacon roared through his ruined jaw and rose, slamming his head back in search of Hazel. “Hazel watch out, Adam, take his legs!”

That was all the warning he had, a split second later having the arc of crackling red burns over the ground and take him just below where Hazel’s feet were, cleaving through flesh and bone like fire through ice. He fell with a snarl as much fury as pain and caught himself on his remaining arms and ruined knees, trying and failing to rise before lighting cracked once more, into and through his lower back. The powerful heat cooked through him, leaving a smoldering hole, and he finally sagged to the side and grunted in pain. 

“Now, to finish this you insufferable-” He rolled over at the woman’s words and how close they sounded, landing on a back burnt almost raw and bleeding. From his hand, fire spewed hot and directed, a torrent that slammed into the woman’s face and earned a pain filled screech of raw, pure agony. 

 

Hazel was on him in a second, legs wrapped around his bicep and bracing as hard as he could against his shoulder with them, his own hands gripping the Undead warrior’s wrists, binding him as best he could and straining against the warrior’s struggles. Strained and pained, the man cried out, “Cinder, stab him! Before he breaks free!”

She ignored him, grasping the burnt side of her head and falling to her knees with a scream, smoldering and smoking as her hair and skin burned. He tried to rise and the man, Adam, was there, slamming his red blade through the Undead’s chest just under his collar bone. Panting and backlit by the forest burning around them, the man laid a hand on his chest and pushed away, snarling under his breath and collapsing on the ground beyond. 

“Well, look what the brats dragged in.” Watts joined them, standing over them, face a mask of pure pleasure at his predicament. He tried a snarl in answer but only blood came forth, the man chuckling and giving the sitting Faunus a nod of appreciation, “Good work, I could do without his sanctimonious-”

“You bastard!”

“Oh boy, here we go…”

“You ruined my face, you ancient son of a… A whore!” Cinder snarled, storming over to stand over him, face a scowl where the skin still existed. 

The entire left side of her face was burned now, the hair burnt away entirely on that side for a fist-sized chunk of space and blacked beyond, falling away in ashen sprinkles. Her eye had been burned away as well, permanently shut, and the burn scar stretched from there down almost to her collar bone, the barest hint of her cheek bone bare for it. For an idle moment he wondered how she was standing, but her entire body was trembling, so she was no doubt on her way into a shock fuelled unconsciousness. 

He’d ruined her, and all he could do in response was smile for her, teeth bloodied and body heaving for air. 

Her only response was an incoherent shriek of rage, left arm rising and following, burying the scythe-shard into his chest once, twice and then a third time. He roared in pain, felt the corruptive influence taking hold, eating his flesh and bone away, and tried to summon forth his Pyromancy. It flickered in his hand and died, Hazel letting him go and wrenching Adam’s sword free for the Faunus. Through pain so fierce and deep it sent him into shock and his vision into swimming darkness, Deacon saw his body smoking and saw his chest cave in before, finally it began to collapse inwards entirely. Blackened and falling to pieces, it caved in, like a house burnt out from the center finally falling to gravity. 

His vision swam once again and his head rolled back, before he faded into sleep.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

He felt cold, he realised quickly. Cold wind on his, but most of him was swaddled in something soft and warm. He was bare of most clothing, beyond simplistic seeming cloth pants, and the next thing he noticed was his toes. Wiggling, curling and uncurling, they were there. His hand as well, laying in the cold wind and on top of the fluffy thing that swamped him. And he was exhausted, he noted as well. In a way he hadn’t been since he’d been a normal Human, training all day with the other knights, breaking himself to reforge himself into something useful. Knights who he couldn’t even recall… His hand twitched in sadness and anger at the realization and suddenly another pair grabbed it, holding his hand and rubbing circles into the back of his large hand. 

His eyes shot open and he made to rise, before a gentle voice chimed above him pleasantly, “You are awake, and that is good. But you must rest more before you make to move.” He did, in spite of everything, and laid back against the lap his head rest on, fingers playing with his hair as his eyes met soft, kind, lonely ice blue, set over a pleasant if sad smile. 

“As you wish…” He rumbled, relaxing against her and ignoring their surroundings in favor of simply looking at her. He knew she had earned ire filled gazes and the ignoring of her fellows in Anor Londo, before her interment, and so simply looking at her brought her joy.

“Very good.” Around them, her ruined tower where they’d first met sat as they’d left it, wind howling around them but unable to interrupt their words. He ignored it still, beyond a cursory glance, and returned to looking at her, earning a pleasantly pleased smile from the great half-breed. “You were rather badly wounded in that fight, were you not?”

“I… I did, yes.” And those wounds were gone now, he didn’t add. She seemed to know though, humming and running her fingers through his hair, parting and straightening it to better frame his face. Idly, he noted, “My hair is long again… I shall need to cut it.”

“I should think not.” She chided, sounding like a mother telling her child not to do a foolish thing. “It is rather pleasant, the way your hair frames your face.”

“But my Lady, my covenants are-”

“Are ancient and voided, for you were but a petty knight sworn to Lords at that time that you spoke them. Or do you think the ghosts of dead gods care for your old oaths, long since fulfilled?” She chided softly, ceasing her ministrations for only as long as it took to swat him on his great nose. “You understand, right, Deacon? That is the name you go by now, is it not?”

“It is.” He nodded, “And I do not understand what you mean, no, my Lady.”

“Oh of course you do not, silly me.” His eyes narrowed and she chuckled, an oddly bell like, childish sound in her great frame. Gentle, musical, and pure. “Knights have ever been bound to oaths and honor, but you? To you, it always seemed less like ties that bind and more like chains. Imprisonment, to dead words of dead languages, spoken to gods so long dead their bodies are not even as dust any longer.”

“One should not so casually break faith with the gods.” They could be vengeful, and karma tended to take action where a god would - or could - not. “What about Beacon, though, my Lady? What about-”

“You may worry about these things soon enough, my sweet, dear knight. For now, simply rest your head here, and sit with me. Speak with me, even.” She spoke in a softer, almost brittle voice in a quiet and weak way, like she was afraid he would refuse her and knew she would break down if he did. Pleadingly, she added after a moment, before he could answer, “It has been so long since we truly spoke, you understand? Since we sat together like this, in this lonely little place.”

“I… Have my duties, Priscilla. You know that.” Her face pinched and his heart seized, and the Undead rushed to add, before she could get truly upset, “But I have time to sit, and speak, Priscilla. What, ah, what did you wish to speak about?”

“This… Beacon. This academy of monster hunters and protectors, to which you have decided to offer your support and comradery. Do you… Like it?” His confusion at the question must have shown on his face, for her hands returned in full to their idle ministrations, relaxing him while she spoke, “You are helping mortals of another Age, and not for any benefit to yourself. Even your oaths don’t demand you work with them, at best one would argue they would demand you go out into the land. To slay the Grimm where they are, rather than stay in some school, writing books and training students.”

“I… Needed information on the world-”

“But when you had enough information to understand the world you found yourself in, and access to maps and topography, you yet stayed at the Academy.” She pointed out, soft eyes hardening and looking into his. Demanding answers of him, more steadily than Priscilla had ever dared to before. “You choose to stay, choose to be there. And so I ask, are you happy there?”

“I… I believe that I am, yes.” He nodded, “I want to protect the Academy, to train the students. Originally, I sought only information and respite. Now, though…”

“And yet you abandoned it for your personal shrine.” The new voice was deeper, filled with a base and intimidating power that seemed to crackle through the air. 

The Undead turned and half rose form the woman’s lap, staring at the robed figure standing at the precipice he had so many times used to return to Anor Londo. The great figure was instantly recognizable by the crown on his head and the robes he wore, even if they were in far finer a state than when he had last seen them. Ruined as it had been even before his pit the crestfallen, burned creature on his sword and left it bleeding in the ash of the Kiln.

“If you truly cared for the Academy over oath and faith, you would have stood and done battle for it as it burned.” Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, explained for the dumbfounded knight. Turning to him, the Lord smiled gently, the face of a grandfather looking at the warrior as he returned to gazing out into the empty landscape around the Painted World and leaning on his sword. “If you truly love the people of this world, then you must abandon petty, ancient faiths to we dead gods and lost Lords.”

“But, Lord, I cannot violate covenant with the gods- With you!” He stood now in spite of Priscilla’s wishes, standing between the woman and the Lord, arms spread in an offer of peace and respect. “To do so would be to dishonor myself. I am but a knight, I cannot hope to-”

“You are a knight, but you are far more than a simple knight.” Gwyn argued sternly, leaving his sword behind and turning to look at the younger being. Approaching him, the Lord reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, a foot below the Lord’s own while the Undead warrior glanced to it in shocked reverence. “What did you think my plan was, in splitting my soul apart, and erecting the Bells of Awakening? If I meant to serve as kindling myself or path Undead into the Flame, then these things would have been against the point. Would they not?”

“Yes, I… Suppose they would.” The Undead heard Priscilla stand beside him and glanced up to her face, only a couple feet above his own now even with her great height. To the Lord he asked, “What, then, was your plan?”

“To forge a new, more powerful Lord than myself or my allies, to begin anew the cycle of life. The Souls, Lord and otherwise, of the great Lords, of the Undead in your path, of beasts and monsters…” He squeezed the warrior’s shoulder and smiled through his bushy, great white beard. “You need not hold yourself to covenants with gods when you yourself are one, Deacon Knight, Lord of Cinder.”

“Lord of… Of Cinder?”

“Yes. As I was when you took the dregs of my life from my dessicated body, but stronger by an exponential factor. A Lord of Cinder is connected to the core of life, the First Flame itself, and that connection is dictated by the strength of the person.” The fallen Lord nodded to him, “You are the strongest Lord to yet exist, but you are more than a Lord of Cinder or Sunlight ought normally be.”

“And yet I fell.” Deacon rumbled sadly, shaking his great head and sighing. “What, I wonder, will happen without me to protect the world?”

“Such is a fate to fear, but not one that we need fear now.” Gwyn answered simply, stepping back from him and returning to his sword, pulling it from the stone and bringing it to rest against the ground before him. The Undead turned to his half-breed companion but Gwyn answered before he could even ask the question, “Lady Priscilla’s power can destroy much, but the Flame itself is not subjected to it. Though a Lord of Cinder will be harmed greatly and crippled for a short time by its strike, only a Lord of Cinder or one powerful enough to become one can truly end a Lord of Cinder.”

“To destroy you or Lord Gwyn with my own hands, as you are now, I would need to be far more powerful than I am.” Priscilla explained, smiling gently at him and shrugging her shoulders at the plainness of the statement. “My interment was in large part due to the fear of many gods for my power, but more than that was due to my ability to end Undead.”

“T’would be hard for an Undead to face legions of Undead to test and strengthen them if Lady Priscilla’s powers ended so many that would come for her soul.” Gwyn explained simply from where he stood, only a few feet from the dropoff that would send them to, presumably, Anor Londo. “You are a Lord of Cinder, every bit my equal and, in parts, even my better. But I see that you seek release before you will ignore the old oaths and owed tithes. So as Lord of the Gods, I unbind you of them.”

“Unbind me…”

“He means that you are free of silly promises you already met, and open to only the jolliest of cooperation with people you think worthy of it.” The Undead spun at the familiar voice, eyes widening excitedly as his brother, Solaire approached from the entryway. The warrior cast his weapons away and spread his arms expectantly, “Come, brother! It has been so long and I desire a brotherly embrace!”

“Solaire!” He crossed the arena in four great steps, sweeping the moderately smaller man up in his arms and crushing him against his chest. “It has been so long! How are you even here? How can you be speaking to me?”

“Lords of Cinder are unique, with powers their own.” Gwyn explained simply, the knight setting his armored brother down and turning to the other Lord while Solaire knelt and bowed his head in reverence. Gwyn waved a hand and Solaire rose again while the paternal giant smiled and asked, “Do you have an inkling of what your Lordly power would be? Given how you faced down your foes throughout the Age you fought in?”

“I don’t…” He trailed off, edges of his mouth tugging up with the threats of a smile, “I summoned allies, like Solaire and Siegmeyer, and others besides.”

“Indeed, my dear Knight.” Priscilla offered with a small but bright smile, gesturing for the leaping point with a wave of her hand. “Now, it is time for you to rise, Deacon. Rise and put an end to this party, as that cruel woman so called it.”

“And do so with allies numbering as many as you would like, you just have to pick them!” Solaire added, fists on his hips and head thrown back as he laughed at the image only he saw at that statement. An action he often had done, in their travels when they met or even journeyed together. Growing more serious, the man rumbled threateningly, “I would look forward to having words with this Cinder Fall, though, for desecrating a holy site consecrated in my name. Dead faith or not, I still have my pride, haha!”

“Your summoning will be limited on your first endeavor, and so I will join you in this battle. My power joined to yours.” Gwyn remarked, looking, impossibly for all he knew of the God’s will and demands from before the Fall of the Age, to Priscilla, “Grand-daughter, will you as well?”

“They sought to use my scythe, use me no less, to strike him down.” The woman answered in a low, angry voice the likes of which even his nightmares had not done justice. Her scythe was in her hand in a moment, spinning through the air with a sharp whistling before the head landed on the ground and stopped there, kicking snow high from its momentum. “Though I will lack my power in truth, if I take their heads they will never rise again. Regardless of the majority of my soul not being within you, as that knife is but a fragment of me.”

“Then I suppose it is time for us to strike back.” He rumbled, striding to the edge of the landing and, without a moment’s thought, dropping off the edge and into the blackness below.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

“I thought you were a doctor, Watts, so fix this!” He heard the woman snarl, feet away from him and closer to Beacon than he had been when he’d fallen. Around him, he could hear and, in an oddly instinctual way, feel the fire burning at the forest around them. Unmoving, body still unresponding, he called on that fire. That ash. While Cinder hissed in pain, “Dust damn it, Watts!”

“Oh, hold still, rather disfigured you baby.” The man snarked with a sigh, apparently treating the woman from his burns. “You’ve suffered intensive burns and these bandages are sterilised and have an ointment that will help the scarring and encourage the skin and muscle to heal better.”

“You’ll need a mask to cover the worst of it. I can recommend good mask-makers in the Fang, you’re allied enough they may work for you.”

He ignored her snappish retort entirely, eyes finally cracking open and head tilting to look at his chest, slowly reforming as ash flowed towards and around him like water. Ash turned to stone formed bones and then the same ash formed muscles and skin, rebuilding him rapidly. He felt the same working itself on his arms and legs, rebuilding what had been taken from him until he felt his toes and fingers flex reflexively in the smoky, hot air around him. With a grunt, he sat up and pushed himself off the ground, turning a glare on the group who had, understandably, assumed him dead and now faced him with masks of shock and fear plastered across their faces.

“You asked what I was, Cinder, and now I shall deign to answer it in full.” He rumbled, ash building on itself around him from the ground up, forming padded cloth first and then chain and, finally, plate in a cascading wave along his entire body. “I am Deacon Knight, the Chosen Undead who journeyed through Anor Londo. The Chosen Undead who fought and fell in a thousand battles in that land, and in others, and who rang the Bells of Awakening. The Undead who fought the gods and cut them low, and then descended into the Kiln of the Flame.”

“I am Deacon Knight, and I was an Undead warrior, cleric of the Way of White.” He finished, helm forming around his head and lending a hollow, intimidating quality to his voice. Raising his summoned greatsword high he inverted his grip on it, stabbing it into the earth and rock below him, ash flowing out from it freely and coalescing around him. “Now, I am Deacon Knight, Lord of Cinder. And I am angry.”

“And you wouldn’t like him angry.” A jovial tone offered beside him, wide, round shield smiling brightly as it always did. Solaire chuckled and waved his blade dismissively at the stunned folk in front of them, still nursing their wounds and, some of them, moving into defensive stances. “Brother, which of these is the harlot that stabbed you? Is it the grossly scarred one currently cowering beside the shirtless man?”

“You died!” She accused, pointing the dagger at him for a moment before it fell to dust in her shaking hand. The dust fell, mixed into the ash that had begun gathering in their location, both natural and unnaturally made by means even the newly dubbed Lord of Cinder didn’t know or understand. “W-What…?”

“Did you truly think to use my own power against me, Human girl?” Priscilla asked coyly from his other side, her scythe coming before him protectively while her tail curled on her right side, close enough to brush against the warrior’s tower shield beside her. Her eyes landed on Adam, hair matted by sweat from the heat now and horns standing prominent, and she asked gently, “My knight, must we strike down that one? I would rather not…”

“Why?”

“A story for another time, but I… Sense in him a soul linked to my own, albeit so distantly as to be night nothing.” Her scythe twitched, blde angling subtly away from him, and she repeated, “May we allow him to leave, my knight? I would not face one with which I hold kinship, albeit of a distant kind as this.”

“It would do to have witnesses, to carry the message far and wide to not make of you an enemy, my child.” Gwyn, the mighty Lord of Lightning and Sunlight rumbled from behind him, lightning cracking behind them with his words. Old magic in the air, but even beyond the distant ages that had passed, the world around them still responded to Gwyn’s fury. “Horned boy, whose name I don’t care for, run or die here. Make your decision.”

“Kill the rest.” Deacon rumbled, nodding his head simply as his comrades surged forward to meet his beleaguered opponents. 

Cinder screamed and lightning cracked down from both sides, barely slowing the summoned warriors of the Lord of Cinder’s while the ones that cracked into Cinder sent her sprawling across the ground. Scythe spinning, Priscilla closed on the downed woman, smiling sadly at her as the burned and beaten woman crawled away and sought to climb into the sky. The half-breed ignored the spray of fire she shot and pushed her back, scythe lashing out and taking her at the knees, the limbs falling away with a spray of red and a cry of stark pain, the strikes so immensely powerful and backed by her Lifehunt that Aura simply ceased under the edge of her scythe.

Behind the falling, doomed woman, Hazel’s fist met Solaire's shield and he cried out in fury, before the warrior cut across his thigh and shoved him back with his shield. That fight didn’t last long either, before the man turned to run, bleeding and wounded and giving up now that Cinder had fallen. An honorable man who, with a wave, Deacon ordered be allowed to flee as he saw fit. Hazel was honorable enough, and he wouldn’t see him cut down for a fight he hadn’t planned and chosen.

Watts’ attempt to flee or fight didn’t last long enough to tell between the two, the man’s three shots cracking into the Lord Gwyn’s chest uselessly. Then he’d turned, as though to run, and been smited by lightning cracking from the Lord’s hand before he’d taken so much as a step. A moment later, the great Sunlight Sword replaced the lightning and burst through his breast, cleaving the man nearly in two as the Lord stepped through.

Less a battle, and more a domination of retribution and devastation. Gods versus men, and what few didn’t flee could do nothing against the gods before them, and so they were broken and cut down with total ease.

“Now, girl, I believe you have something that is not yours.” Deacon rumbled as he stepped to the young, crippled woman’s head and planted his sword in the soil beside her neck. His fellows surrounded her, and her hand shot up, lightning cracking down into the Lord of Cinder weakly, scarcely earning a grunt from the man before he sighed and went on. “For your attempt on my life, and attack on Beacon Academy, I exercise the authority vested in me as a member of Beacon’s staff and sentence you to die. Any final words you wish remembered?”

“You will pay for- Hrk.” She stared down at her chest in surprise, then up at Priscilla’s cold frown, the base of her scythe buried in her heart. 

“Forgive me, but I would not hear you. You took my own body, a fragment of me, and sought to wound one I care for.” The half-breed said simply, waiting until the woman went limp and still, and Deacon felt her soul and that of the Maiden’s break away from her. Meeting his eyes, the giant of a woman nodded her head and smiled, “Victory is yours, Lord Knight.”

“Not as yet, my Lady.” He rumbled, turning from the corpse and nodding towards Beacon Academy. “Drive the attackers from Beacon, save the students and Academy, and then disperse. Back into the ash from which you are summoned.”

Why he gave the last order he didn’t know, the words and idea came instinctively to him, but he didn’t fight it. Miracles did the same, in his experience, at times taking and directing people through the proper actions and understandings. This, he assumed, was the same. New powers directing his instincts, which adapted and pushed him to do and say what he needed to in order to control his power. His summoned friends, for lack of a proper term, didn’t hesitate to obey the order he gave.

And so, ready for the next bout, he followed after the legends and allies of old, to protect his new home. The battle had been in swing for a while, and overhead Atlas’ warships loomed into view over the Academy, so he had no doubt it would be a simple and easy affair.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

So the casualties are~ 

Mercury, Watts, and Cinder’s lives.

Also, Adam and Mercury’s dignity. 

For context, yes, they managed to beat Deacon. But as stated below in some RRs, only by very Dark Souls reasons. Deacon didn’t know about Adam’s Semblance, and that caught him off guard and ended his chance of a win. Then the enemy capitalized on their knowledge, from Deacon trying to intimidate the fight out of the situation ala Ironwood, and blew his jaw off. Even then, Mercury died because he got yeeted off the cliff and sent flying about a hundred feet to the ground below to go smush. And then it took Hazel grappling and Adam severing his legs too to get him down.

Even that proved to be for naught, because fuck those guys. They didn’t know who they fucked with, and the Sunbro Squad (plus best DS Waifu) rolled over them in a few seconds when they came in.

So with proper planning, surprise, overwhelming numbers and crippling attacks, they managed to down an unarmored Deacon. Seems reasonable for the DS feel, even if Lords of Cinder have two phases at least. 

And no one saw it coming… For once.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Adis (Guest) :

Because I am a bigger dick than invading Nakeds wear the FAP ring and wielding Havel’s dickhammer.

Betrayal Tide :

Truly, they knew not what they fucked with.

Yes Boss 21 :

No, he made two circles and laid one of the Medallions, Solaire’s, on it during prayer and meditation. Otherwise, he wears the two medallions both, or leaves them locked safely in his dorm.

No true death here, and it’s Priscilla’s scythe fragments, fixed into makeshift daggers.

Also, did you Comment/Review on both chapters on both sites? XD

Guessing Guest :

Neither. He was bested by ignorance, not arrogance. Adam’s Semblance was an unknown and crippled him early, as planned by Cinder and company. The moment he was in trouble, he became ruthless and uncompromising, as per Mercury’s rather unfortunate Fall.

Get it?

Because… Cinder’s name is- nevermind.

Acorn Case :

I use my own interpretations, yes, but as does basically everyone in DS. I hope I did well enough in explaining why Priscilla can kill Undead permanently, but the Gods wouldn’t use it.

Two Tacos Tuesday :

First off, heathen, FRIDAY is the day of sacred tacos. Everyone knows this. XD

Secondly, they’re *daggers* not *the* dagger, if that makes sense. They are daggers, but not *the* daggers.

Mr Malfunction :

The Chosen Undead loses a lot. It’s if him losing - or dying - sticks that matters. If you fight a boss for the first time and don’t know what to expect, you tend to lose. Such is replicated here, where Deacon does just fine and fends them all off until Adam’s unknown Semblance disarms him, and then Watts disables his Miracle usage by knocking out his jaw.

Losing didn’t stick though.

Bob :

Was the Winged Spear.


	22. Chapter 22

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(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

Come midnight, the White Fang were routed, imprisoned or, in many cases where the newly ascended Lord of Cinder’s summoned compatriots were involved, dead. Not for any lack of mercy, though there was somewhat a shortage of that with the fury that burned between them and burdened their minds and will, but rather for an abundance of power that the ancient warriors were unused to having to restrain. Battling fellow immortal horrors lost to their own inequity, misbegotten fiends of the deep Dark, and beasts of every kind was a different item of order than fighting unarmored fanatics.

He struggled to empathise with the dead or surrendered terrorists at the moment the fighting had ended. It was hard to feel for them, even as he knew he should, while parts of Beacon burned and smoked, choking the air.

Come morning, however, the burning had ended completely. And with the aid of Glyn’s powerful restorative telekinetics, buildings began to be rapidly restored to their glorious visage. Those that had not been blackened and warped by fires and explosives that wrought damage beyond those abilities, at least, though they were blessedly few and far between on that front.

“Repairmen and supplies will be here by the end of tomorrow, don’t doubt that. Vale would never allow their crown jewel to rest in ruins for any reason short of a Grimm incursion wiping it from the map.” Glyn sighed when the sun came up, shining glorious redemption on the battered scape of the academy, the duo standing in the headmaster’s office and looking down on the unbroken, though beleaguered, school. “Not to mention James’ army engineers, already working on repairing the auditorium.”

The woman was well, uninjured to say the obvious, but exhausted as clear as the sun brought day. Her uniform was wrinkled in most places, and her skirt hiked up a few inches she didn’t care to worry over from fighting. Her hair was matted in places by sweat and ash from the burning buildings, as much from the actual fighting as from the repair work she'd undergone afterwards, using her Semblance to cover and choke fires and repair broken masonry and woodwork both.

Such had exhausted her beyond anyone else involved, and so he didn’t question the way she leaned against the thick, heavy windows of the office’s balcony.

“Indeed.” He finally rumbled, turning his gaze from her and out to the academy itself. “Say as you like of militaries, they work quickly and efficiently.”

“James said that the work should be done by the end of the day.” She nodded, “He assigned extra men and women there, alongside a swathe of his maintenance drones.”

His eyes found the ship that was leading it, a small transport frigate according to the man before he’d stormed out to oversee prisoner transport and interrogation. The stark, crisp white vessel floated low to the ground, like a massive white beetle looming beside the tower they themselves stood in while, beneath it, workmen, droids and more were working away on repairing the moderate damage. The middle-aged general’s fury given shape, faces and purpose, he mused quietly. 

“With it repaired, we can hold a speech and congratulate the students on a well fought victory.” The Lord nodded, “They excelled, you know. I felt their fury rage through me and mine even as we fought..”

“A fairly good prelude to informing them that the first year dorms were damaged by fire, and will need to wait a week for repairs.” Which meant, Deacon knew, that they’d be setting up the auditorium for the sleeping space. Not a fact that the students would savor, to say the least. “Space will be… Difficult.”

“Do you have planning in regards to that?”

“Some, yes. None that I particularly enjoy, but I do have a handful of them.” She answered quietly, watching craft from Vale come and go, like little silver bugs flitting between two nests on assignments only they would know of. With a sigh, the woman turned watery, fatigued eyes on the ancient man and raised a brow, “Do you have any ideas to put forward on the matter?”

“I would hear yours first, Glyn.” She was, after all, the expert in all things surrounding academy management. Someone had to, with Ozpin being… Ozpin. The woman’s brow rose in question, clear in direct spite of the ash staining the right side of her forehead, and Deacon chuckled. “The better not to repeat that which you have already thought of, I feel. We have both had… A long night.”

“And a long morning ahead of us, too.”

“Indeed.” He rumbled, “All the better, then, not to waste our time.”

“Very well, but I need some caffeine first and foremost.” The woman agreed, pushing off the balcony window and turning, heading across the office to the desk to take a seat. Admittedly, he noted, at an office chair brought in from elsewhere, while Ozpin’s loitered in the end of the room directly opposite the elevator. 

Not a seat Glyn was willing to take, he supposed, sitting across from her and relaxing finally. With that, he let his ash-made armor fade away, dissolving back into the ash that had made it and vanishing within himself, like his Souls and Humanities would do if he called them out. Those he understood, millennia of experience with them engendering it, but the powers of the Ash were new. And though he knew their power, he knew as well

“That’s new.” The woman observed, plucking the steaming coffee pot from the little heating block and pouring them each a glass. Tall as he was, he could still reach it when she held it out for him. “When did you start being able to do that with your armor?”

“Last night, though… That is a story for later, I feel. When matters grow less dire.” The woman had enough on her shoulders already, including the entirety of the Academy now Ozpin was… Dead didn’t apply, really, as he’d been told. Away seemed a better term. “I would deal with one matter at a time, if you do not mind terribly.”

“Well, in that case, my first plan is rather simple.” The woman paused to take a long drink of her coffee and sigh, eyes closing contentedly for a few seconds before she began to explain. “The third years were returning en mass for the Vytal Festival. Instead, I could assign them missions around the Valean Wall’s peripheries, curbing the spike in Grimm presence everyone knows is coming.”

“And the successes there would bring experience to the teams deployed, Lien to them and the Academy, and act as a show of force to cut the head of the hydra before it can rear its head and frighten the people.” Even now, he was sure, news organizations would be telling the tale of Beacon’s bombing and burning. People would be afraid and that fear would motivate hatred for the Faunus and, combined with the fear itself, the two emotions would bring Grimm baying. “I would suggest that teams with Faunus in them be deployed favorably, and where they will be seen.”

“To counteract the White Fang attacking affecting the treatment of the Faunus in general, and lower the animosity they are going to face in the coming weeks.” Glynda observed, bright eyes opening and a smile cracking her tired face. “A good tactic. And if we are lucky, it may even manage to mitigate whatever victory the White Fang itself might see here.”

“Such was my hope.”

“Then we shall do that.” The woman nodded gently, sighing after a moment and drawing her Scroll out. Typing away, she explained for his benefit, “I’m going to have Doctor Oobleck set to the task, and send both Peter and him out with the teams. Qrow will no doubt take one as well, while we wait for Ozpin to make contact, and we can double teams for safety or hire on Hunters as needed.”

“And what of me?” He asked, noting with furrowed brows a lack of mentioning him in that. “What, Headmistress, shall you order me to do?”

“You, as our most powerful combatant, are going to be on standby until we know where Ozpin is. James and I both have obligations we can’t simply leave to retrieve him, so we will need you to do so for us.” She inclined her head slightly and offered him a wan, gentle smile, before she added in a quiet, fragile voice. “Assuming, of course, you are willing. You’re not sworn to follow our orders, after all, and I wouldn’t presume.”

“Indeed I am not.” The Undead agreed, folding his hands in his lap around the warm mug and asking, “What if I were, though?”

“Pardon?” The woman blinked, doing a sudden impression of a fish sucking in air with wide, surprised eyes.

“I have enjoyed a time of liberty and freedom, without a Lord or Lady to swear to, or an objective to vow under. Long enough to almost be without precedent, such is my lot as an unlanded knight first, and an Undead warrior later.” Deacon explained simply, turning to watch Ironwood’s flagship drift by silently. Stark whites and silvers and smooth edges, the think also looked vaguely like a legless insect of some kind, though he couldn’t guess what. “Now, I should think, swearing myself to a cause is a good thing to do. I care for this place, after all, and this battle has seen it warred against. I would swear to its defence and service, and service to you in pursuit of that, if you would have me.”

“I- Of course I would!” The woman spluttered, facade of cool control shattering at the words. Blinking, she coughed into her fist and tried flailingly to regain that air of composure once again. “That is to say, you’re a powerful, loyal warrior. And with the powers I already know of, much less those I do not, and your nigh immortality besides, I believe you would be a tremendous ally. And I would be honored to have you.”

“Then sworn I shall be.” He bowed his head and raised a fist to his chest, “Sworn to your service and land, and tasks to hand, your knight here stands, ready for his lord’s commands.”

“Is that… I mean, not to sound offensive, but...” The woman blinked, grimaced, and then seemed to decide directness was the best approach and asked, “Is that all there is to it? What I mean to say is, is it done?”

“Yes.” Grand ceremonies had rapidly lost their place for such things in his time, and as someone that had experienced both in equal measure, he preferred simplicity. It was faster, and he had duties that he would prefer to be doing rather than kneeling or reciting oaths. “The poem is simple, and borne of a simpler, crueller time. A time dimmer than this but in both, I would rather not waste the time for something more complex.”

“I see, well-” The woman blinked as her Scroll rang and, brows furrowed, she picked it up and read the identification on the screen. “An unknown caller from… Mistral?” She gave him a glance and he shrugged unsurely, gesturing for her to answer the call. She did, flicking it open and turning her chair politely, “Hello, this is temporary headmistress Glynda Goodwitch of- Ozpin!?”

“It seems I am needed sooner than expected.” The Lord of Cinder rumbled, rolling his shoulders and rising. Half-turning towards the door, he spoke to the woman, “Send me the location and transport details, I will-”

“He says to meet him at Haven Academy.” The woman cut across, giving him a look askance, caught between dislike, disbelief and an odd comfort at hearing the ancient man’s commands once again. “And he… He wants Team RWBY assigned to you to come along, for added security, he says.”

“Added security…” They were first years, barely more than trainees and cadets. They’d get in his way more than they could possibly add more protection for him during his travels. “I do not understand, reaching the other continent should be but a ride on one of the Atlesian ships. Or a Bullhead.”

“He doesn’t want you to fly directly to Mistral, Deacon.” She explained, “He wants you to land outside it and walk, to avoid attention from… The enemy.”

“I see.” He sighed, and finally nodded. Bowing his head slightly in respect to the woman he’d sworn to, though he knew she was still adjusting to that, he grunted simply. “As you order, my Lady, I shall do. You have but to tell me when I depart, and I will be underway to him, on foot or by air matters not.”

“Then… I will message you the departure date.” She nodded, swallowing anxiously over the weight he put behind the way he spoke to her now and closing the Scroll in her hand. Something she would, in time, adjust to he was sure. She was not a woman to balk at the strange or intriguing, and something like this would soon be a matter of course. In a firmer, more solid tone, she ordered gently, “Then get your affairs in order, and be ready. I’ll inform you when the team is in order, and you will leave to head for Mistral.”

“And Glyn, I would leave you gifts, and tell you some of what transpired to me last night, now.” Her brow rose in question and, carefully, he drew forth the shard of Priscilla’s shattered scythe from within himself, the daggers hilt chilling his hand from its raw power. Laying it on the table as gingerly as he would a bomb, he explained. “This blade is a special one. A shard of my once-Lady Priscilla’s own, imbued with a dangerous ability known as Lifehunt.”

“Lifehunt…” She stood to look down on it from above rather than touch it, knowing from her new servant’s words that it would be dangerous. Looking over the keen edge, she asked ina low voice, “What does it… Do?”

“Lifehunt is an ability unique to Lady Priscilla and those things she imbued with an essence of her being.” Her scythe, for instance, she’d imbued for her own protection. “It is a weapon that can permanently destroy nearly any creature. Dragons, men, Gods, constructs… Undead, even, if you plunge it into their hearts.”

“Undead…” Suddenly, her eyes snapped to his, wide green orbs of sudden fight contained only by the knowledge of him standing in front of her. “That… That bitch meant to use this on you, didn’t she? To kill you with this… Thing?”

“And she succeeded, at least in part, yes.” Confusion and terror cracked across the woman’s face and he reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder, giving her an affirming squeeze and smiling. “I am well, Glyn, you need not fear a death that came and went as easily as the morning sun shines on us even now.”

“Explain.” The woman ordered lowly, easing into the seat across from him and staring him down. 

“They ambushed me, overwhelmed me, and crippled me with Semblances I hadn’t known to anticipate.” He answered simply, recalling with no lack of displeasure the trap he’d walked into. A foolishness he recognized now even more than he had before, though honor would have demanded it regardless. “With this dagger,” he waved a hand at it, “Fall stabbed me again and again, sapping me until I felt true death’s fingers around my soul.”

“But…?”

“But I am no mere Undead, Glyn.” He answered simply, waving at the window with a hand and smiling fondly. “A mere Undead could not have kindled the Flame, and given birth and breath to a world such as this. My folly is in failing to recognize the changes I had undergone, the power I had taken on, in my journey to safeguard my world.”

“I consumed Lordsouls, the very things that made gods, and the souls of all they wrought with their own hands.” Constructs, children in some cases, dragons whose deaths had made nigh-Lords of many, and the souls of ancient knights and demi-Lords of every description. “When I awakened inside the Kiln, I foolishly thought nothing had changed. That I was merely Deacon Knight, Undead warrior.”

“But you weren’t.” Glynda observed, knowing the fact for what it was even before he nodded. “T-Then what… Brothers, don’t tell me you’re-”

“I am Deacon Knight, Lord of Cinders, a god equitable to Lord Gwyn himself in power and prestige.” The god had himself implied as much and said a large part of that, and he would not argue the matter now, with the power he felt within himself. “My armor vanishes into Ash in part and parcel to my abilities as a Lord, and the people who were with me were… Golems, in a way. Made of Ash, suffused with my power, and granted a soul within me to take mind and purpose.”

“Those are your friends?!” The woman shouted in surprised realization, mouth gaping at a nod. “Gods… And you’re a god… And you swore to serve me…”

“I did.”

“A god serves me…” The woman murmured in shock, resting her forehead in her hands and groaning. “Oh, I’m going to need time to process this kind of news… A lot of time. And, likely, alcohol.”

“I could see that.”

“Go, get ready for your mission… And tell Qrow I need to speak with him, if you could.” With an obedient, reverent bow, he turned and left the room. Though, before he did, he caught her murmur, ‘And I wanted a simple life…’

He snorted lightly, but didn’t not comment, and the elevator doors closed on the stressed looking woman. His thoughts, shamefully, turned elsewhere, though. His thoughts turned to the Maiden and then to his young pseudo-apprentice, who had been getting closer to one of Ozpin’s favored choices before Amber’s death.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The infirmary of Beacon was as he remembered it, safe in a place not struck by the bombs of the White Fang. Though now it was far busier, with doctors and nurses in military uniforms ordering Hunter trainees to carry wounded staff and students both to and fro on stretchers, or helping those well enough out of the infirmary to clear the way. Robots moved through the crowd as well, carrying supplies of all manner to doctors tending to patients in their beds and, pushing the ancient warrior aside, a trio of armored soldiers in burnt and ragged gear carried a groaning man through the door and disappeared down the hall moments later. 

The aftermath of a battle, he recognized immediately. The halls had abounded with similar milling or working, though here such was more frantic and chaotically ordered than the halls had been.

Understanding the situation he turned, grabbing a nurse as the Faunus tried to flit by and, to let her continue her work quickly, snapping, “Winchester, Cardin. Team Cardinal, I was told by his team members in the hall on the way here that he was wounded. Brown hair, dark eyes, tall and with-”

“Back left of the room, far corner.” The fox woman rattled off, yanking her arm free so she could turn to a soldier sitting on the ground and clutching his stomach. 

He was one of dozens around him, the Lord realized as he turned, their corner seemingly reserved for the more critical of the patients like the man the nurse now set to work calming. Seeing him loom over her and her patient, she turned her head and sighed, “Now go on, he’s over there for you to see him and I need to tend to this man before he-”

“And the Lord of Ash and broken dust knelt beside the bleeding and the dying. The broken, whose valor stood where bone, blood and flesh failed.” He rumbled loudly, cutting the woman off and kneeling beside the wounded warrior, reaching out a gentle hand to lay on his head. Closing his eyes, he continued on the same instinctive impulse that had started this venture, voice cracking the air with energy and weighing it down around them. “And through his divine power, the power of gods and devils aye, the broken mended. Flesh stitched. Blood renewed. Bones mended. A body healed.”

Wind rushed through the room, along with the sound of bells chiming and a flash of bright light. Around him, doctors hissed and straightened like ramrods, suddenly suffused with energy and stamina. The soldiers, staff and cadets groaned, or in some cases cried out in pain, as their bodies shifted around them, their wounds mending painfully quickly. After, though, a third of the room relaxed, healed or rejuvenated by his adhoc, improvised Miracle.

Though he himself was drained, enough that he groaned in fatigue as he rose, the room soon came back to life. Doctors, fresh where he was in the room, began their work again and the cacophony returned. A long fight, death, an incredibly major Miracle of summoning and then a major Miracle of healing… His stamina was suited to the physical, not the mystically miraculous, and now he felt the edge of fatigue taking hold unpleasantly.

It was nice to know where one’s boundaries were, so rarely did he reach towards them.

“Thank you, sir…” The soldier said as he stood, the ancient warrior watching him press bloody-gloved hands against fresh, pink skin. “I thought I was going to die… Thank you!”

“To your duty, soldier.” He grumbled simply, the man’s eyes meeting his, hardening with the reminder, and then the man giving him a nod before running off. He watched the soldier go and felt a hand on his arm, meeting the faunus woman’s gaze and asking, “Yes?”

“Can you do that again?”

“I… Am afraid not.” He answered soberly after a moment of thought and a pain filled realization. He had sworn to Glynda’s cause, and needed to be ready at a moment’s notice. A diversion here to save a couple lives, or more likely some pain, could cost hs oath bound mission later. “I am at my limit, and have a mission soon. Were I free, I would exhaust myself, but...”

“You’ve got hunter business to get to, and you still risked being exhausted when you get to it to clear my work load and help my patients.” She offered him a bright, if exhausted, smile and waved him off. “You’ve done plenty already, and more than you had to. Good luck on your mission, Hunter.”

“Hmph.” He nodded, the woman turning to a soldier behind her who he’d healed, tugging off bandages formerly wrapped around his arm with a confused face. Like a machine, she started processing him out, clearing space for him to get to his duties and her to get a new patient.

He found Winchester a few moments later, left side wrapped in bandages from head to toe, machines hooked up to him, and leg hanging from a sling in a thick cast. Velvet sat beside him nursing a black eye, but in spite of bruising and bandages blocking their visions, they looked up to the massive man as he arrived. 

“A man shot him and cut him up pretty bad, Professor.” Velvet answered when he looked to her, more willing to question her about the matter than the practically mummified man. “They cover basically all his legs and everything below his sternum, too. And he had a hellish Brothers damn cut on his shoulder. But he’ll be okay, once he’s had some time in bed.”

“I would heal you if I had the stamina, but I used my last to save lives moments prior. The rest, I used last night in battle.” He grimaced at the realization, comforted only by the lack of blood on the man’s bandages. The wounds were under control, then, and healing well enough. “Only now do I realize that yours could have been at risk… I should have seen to you first. I am sorry. I was not in my right mind, and have not been since last night.”

“Just a guy, not a priority.” Cardin dismissed simply, grunting and grimacing as his chest flared at even that brief statement. In spite of both, the man grunted further. “Just glad I protected the rabbit.”

“....Told you not to call me that, Cardin.” Velvet pouted, ears flicking oddly at the name and smiling in spite of both. Sighing, she explained for the ancient man’s benefit, “The Headmaster was looking for Pyrrha, but couldn’t find her, she and Jaune had gone off somewhere else in the fighting with the rest of Team Juniper. He found Cardin with me and Coco, holding the courtyard, and asked her to come with. Cardin insisted on bodyguarding them.”

“And a man attacked you, beneath Beacon.” He guessed, knowing the gist from what Cinder had stated. Prior to her untimely death, that was. “How were you both and the Headmaster beaten in a straight fight?”

“There was a girl with him, she… She played with our heads, whenever that Faunus would make a move against one of us.” Velvet answered quickly, grimacing at no doubt unpleasant memories. “She’d hid him, swap him with us and more. We couldn’t fight him, he was too good at fighting, and beat us down with her help in no time. The Headmaster fared better, but…”

“Dirty tricks, and we were in the way.”

“Ah. Yes, well...” Velvet grimaced, waving a hand weakly at the man. “You were hurt too bad, and I couldn’t get you out or he said he’d kill you. You fought so hard to protect me, and that girl, I couldn’t just… Let that man kill you.”

And so Ozpin had been forced to hold back, unwilling to risk being the hand that unintentionally killed his own students. Either through accident, overpowering attacks, or through an illusion forcing his hand, he’d been forced into a corner. Trapped, he’d been unable to defend the catatonic Amber or himself with any success, and so both had been killed in battle. A tragic end for the maiden, though that had been in the making for some time, and a tragic end for Ozpin’s host. Such was their lot in life, though, to die and return in their unending quests and duties.

More importantly, he turned to Cardin and smiled. 

“You have done well, my boy. Truly a paragon of virtue, to stand before a woman whose very species you once hated, and nigh on lay down your life for her.” He rumbled proudly, reaching into his shirt and retrieving one of the shining medallions, warm to the touch, that he always wore. The young man’s one bare eye narrowed at the dangling medallion and, carefully, Deacon asked, “I would give this to you, if you would have it. As token of my esteem and pride in your progress. In days of old, my Order’s members would gift these to promising individuals in whom we had faith. This one,” he lifted the thing meaningfully, “was gifted to me by my brother in faith. And I offer it to you, now.”

With his good arm, and a wince as the rest of him shifted on the bed, Cardin reached up to try and take it. Deacon saw the attempt and kindl leaned over, dropping the warm disk into the man’s hand with a small nod in answer to the young warrior’s murmured, surprised, “Thank you…”

“Should you ever be in dire, death fearing need of me,” he pointed at the medallion hanging between the young man’s fingers, “cut your finger, bloody the medallion, and speak my name. Words will appear on the floor, and you need only touch them. My aid will come.”

“That sounds like magic…” And something they’d seen under Beacon made the two young cadets exchange glances, and then turn to him and nod. “I-I’ll remember that, sir. If I ever need help, I’ll call you, just like you said.”

“Very good… Yes, very, very good indeed.” Deacon nodded, done with the matter he’d so desperately wanted dealt with finally. A matter he’d been considering for some time, pushed into a decision by the sacrifice of the young man at hand. He was happy with it, though, and so turned to leave before hesitating. As a last parting gesture, he nodded his head to the young man and woman, and grunted. “Be well and heal fast, my young friends. There is much that needs doing, and few as brave and good as you two to do the doing.”

That said, and without waiting to hear their words or for him to desire Solaire’s medal returned, he strode away. Weaving between robots, soldiers, and all the rest, he decided that he’d just have to summon Solaire some time later when he was rested. The man would, no doubt, approve the giving of the medallion and put his mind at ease in doing so. Or, he hoped at least.

Tale as old as time, literally, he pushed his fear aside and continued on to eat, drink and rest ahead of his works tomorrow. Either he’d depart for Mistral proper or he’d return here, refreshed and recovered, to mete out healing Miracles as he was able, and mend the broken around him far faster than they could otherwise hope to. One or the other, but either would need him to rest before he could attempt it.

And frankly, he was looking forward to his soft bed and hot food after such a long night and morning. A message chiming on his Scroll had him sigh and smile, reading his Lady’s orders to be ready come morning to leave with his forces.

Tomorrow, then, would be an equally long day.

Morning came quickly, and with the rising of the sun Deacon was on the Bullhead’s landing pads, watching not one but two teams of cadets load up a sleeker, Atlesian designed Bullhead to leave for Mistral. Or, rather, to south Anima, where they would land to make a more quiet approach from Mistral proper’s southern end. But with so many young warriors with them, their numbers would exceed what he felt likely to be able to accomplish subtlety in any way whatsoever.

“Redhead’s the actual Fall candidate, and if we run into whoever got the power, boss wants her to kill her.” Qrow explained when he posed those very complaints to him, aarms folded across his great chest while the wiry man reclined on some empty crates and watched the children work. “Plus, she’s a good enough fighter to actually have a chance of winning in spite of the magic gap.”

“And her team would not let her be torn from them.” Not without being told of things beyond their station, at least as it was for now. Shortly, he was sure, they would be learning about a great, vast number of things that they would need to know in order to adequately combat the coming threats. “Do you believe it wise, then, to have so many young fighters with us on this quest?”

“Not my job to make the calls like that. S’Oz’s job.” Though he let his head roll to the side to look at his nieces regardless, hand patting out a pattern on his leg. Finally, the man sighed, “I don’t like it, but… They’re good kids, and good Hunters too. They’ll do fine. And with us there, there shouldn’t be much to worry about.”

“Indeed…” And he’d been given orders by his Lady regardless, so he wouldn’t dwell on the situation any further. Instead, he sighed and asked, “Are you ready, then? It is time we depart, after all.”

“Yep.” The man grunted, rolling off the crates and staggering upright, calling out to the laughing, excited students, “Anyone under twenty, shut up and get on the Bullhead! It’s time to leave. We have work to do!”

And so, with eight addons and a half-drunken Hunter, the Lord of Cinder embarked on the next leg of his journey.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

To Anima, and the Mistral Arc, we go~

Thank you all for the outpouring of praise for the last chapter. I am so happy that so vastly many of you enjoyed it so much. I look forward to writing the next arc of this story, and going on this journey with all of you!

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

The Masked Swordsman :

Yeah, got too into the fight, my bad.

Peace :

Together, no, at least not yet. But interesting changes regardless~

And the limit is his own stamina and energy reserves. As stated here, he’s more physically enduring than he is good at slinging Miracles, so the limit rests somewhere up there. The details will be implied in the story going forward.

Omega :

I kinda wanna know which is which, now…

Mockingburns :

You bet your bippy. Time is a thing, but thanks to all my kind Supporters, I get chapters out fairly regularly for all my stories. So just keep looking forward, new releases should happen regularly.

Mr Malfunction :

You could say that, yes. XD

Talon Scythe :

She did. Tyrian and Emerald attacked and killed Ozpin and Amber, giving her the powers. Hence the lightning she used to help batter down pre-Lord Deacon.

Bulletmonk :

No, his same Steel Set, though with the ember effects common to Kindled ones.

Eyman al Kadouri :

SOLAIRE LIVES! *STOMP, STOMP, STOMP*


	23. Chapter 23

XxX----XxX----XxX

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XxX----XxX----XxX

“We will be fine.” Hazel grunted, hood drawn up against the rain pelting down on Vale as he and Adam, mask gone in favor of cloth bandages with faux-blood across his eyes. Around them, Atlesian soldiers milled about, stopping whoever they could and demanding identifications or offering treatment for the wounded. 

“Are you sure?” The man asked, face pressed against his chest, his pride be damned.

Wounded like what Adam was pretending to be, head and chest wrapped in bandages with Hazel practically carrying him with a hand under his arm. “Once we reach the industrial sector, your people can smuggle us out.”

“And what are we supposed to-”

“Sir!”

Hazel’s instincts screamed at him to run, for the moment, as he looked over a shoulder at an approaching Atlesian woman in silver armor, scuffed and burnt in places from the fighting and the fires. They were still near enough to Beacon for the soldiers deployed there to be on patrols, then, so any chance of lying and claiming to have been Valean guards deployed would be too risky. She could ask where he was, what he did, and try to verify it, which would obviously fail.

Unless…

“Yes, Ma’am?” He asked, adopting an exhausted face and voice, even mores o than he already was. In his arms, Adam tensed but was wise enough to hide it, hanging mostly limp against him and keeping one foot raised slightly as though it were injured. “Please, be quick, Ma’am, my friend is hurt and we have to get down to the hospital.”

“I see.” The woman looked the Faunus over, Adam’s hair matted down by grease and oil from a machine Hazel had destroyed and ripped apart hiding all but his horns. “He’s a Faunus, so he’s not one of ours, but his wounds look serious…”

“They’ve been treated already, Ma’am.” Hazel assured her, praying to Salem and, even if she’d have hated it, to the Brothers that the woman didn’t ask after the sword hanging on Hazel’s waist, also smeared with oil and ash to hide it. A hopeless prayer, for her eyes trailed to it, able to see the entire thing the way Hazel was hunching low to hold Adam. “Mine, Ma’m. Jakov lost his spear when the Grimm started rampaging.”

“Unfortunate. A Hunter pair, then?” It was as distinctive a weapon as anyone could hope, Wilt and Blush were. 

But caked in oil and ash, and on Hazel’s back besides, he hoped it would be hidden well enough. Add the gloom of the storm that had come on, which was why they’d made the move to leave in the first place, he was certain that a random soldier wouldn’t recognize it as anything more than a sword. 

“Yes, Ma’am. We heard there was some fancy tournament going on up at Beacon, wanted to come in and see what it was about.” He didn’t detail beyond that, keeping the information just generic enough to simultaneously be uncheckable and check out in her mind. “Didn’t get in in time to see much, and whatever happened around here happened before we could react. We tried to fight, but…”

“Damn terrorists blew the road we were on.” Adam sneered, surprising the large man, though he masked it. Faking a hacking cough, Adam clutched his side and grunted, “Lost my spear, and my partner got me out. One of your medics saved my life, but the Grimm…”

“I see.” The woman didn’t press them then, instead sighing and asking. “I suppose you were on the road, then?”

“Yes. We tried to help, but with Jakov in this state, I… Had to get him out.” He nodded sadly, knowing from their approach through the woods how damaged the roads and buildings along the Beacon-side of Vale’s perimeter were. 

“Then I’m assuming you lost your baggage and identification, too?” He nodded, making a small show of adjusting Adam against him. “Of course…”

Sighing, she bit her lip and turned, looking around the crowded street they’d chosen for something. A superior officer, perhaps, but the entire north and eastern region of the Kingdom had gone running at the hint of Grimm, and so she found nothing but the source of her evident exhaustion. He could tell from the way she stood, rifle hanging loose and scuffed like the rest of her, and back slightly bowed, that she’d likely gotten little rest since their attack had commenced. 

“I have a ration bar, Ma’am.” He offered, as much to sell the friendly routine as to assuage his own guilt over the matter. She turned and, even with her helmet obscuring her face, he saw the surprise at the mention and added, “Figure you’ve been at it for a while, probably since the attack, and you need to go find someone for us. May as well give it to you, since we won’t be heading into the Emerald Forest like we’d hoped to.”

“I… Yeah, I’m exhausted too, I managed to grab a bar or two last night and some sleep, but…” Laughing weakly, he fished the little silver package from his back pocket and offered it to her. The woman accepted it and, though she tried to hide it, took an eager bite of the bar and groaned in satisfaction. “Oh Brothers’ light, thank you…”

“Now, where do you want us to wait?” He asked, feeling Adam’s tension rising with every passing moment and squeezing him against him to get the message through. If Adam tried anything, Hazel would actually hurt him. 

“No, no, you two can go on. No need making two Hunters wait for no reason, I’m sure you two are fine people anyways, your… Er, statuses not withstanding.” She waved him off, smiling prettily for him while Adam fought not to react to the mention of his ‘status’. Raising the hand that had been holding her rifle, the weapon hanging from a strap around her shoulders, she made a show of waving them off. “Hope I see you out here soon, Sir. Could use the help against the Grimm thronging in the forest.”

He laughed and nodded, but didn’t answer for obvious reasons. If they met anytime soon, it would mean him breaking her, and he didn’t want that. He’d already killed one Atlesian medic, the source of Adam’s bloodied bandages, and didn’t fancy killing another kind young woman.

Not to mention, he already had a lot of explaining to do to Salem, and no Cinder for her to blame the failed plan on. Only he and, when they met up, Tyrian for their queen to pin the blame on, justified or not.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Inclement weather, Sir.” The pilot explained when he notified them of a diversion, “Arus is a small fortress settlement located on the coast, with a man-made dirt enclosure to build a proper harbor around and walls atop it. It’s essentially a fort, but bigger and with a small village inside for the soldiers and families, and a harbor attached.

“I have Academy students with me.” He pointed out, leaning against the sealed bulkhead that separated the wide, two-seat cockpit from the passenger compartment. 

“I know, Sir.” The co pilot said, seat spun on a swivel mounted directly into the deck below to look at him, the pilot beside him quietly checking readings, instruments and navigating as well as he could see through the dark sky and hard rain. “The plains around it are regularly patrolled by Atlesian armored units, so no real risk of Grimm attack. Uh, Sir.”

“Show him a holo of that area, Avers.” The pilot suggested simply, older and with a deeper sounding voice than his young comrade. Idly, he wondered about that, as he’d seen most pilot pairs have an older lead and a younger subordinate. “It’ll let him get a real feel for it, and Hunters like him like seeing what they’re up against. Not like us pilots, sittin’ on math and the like.”

“It would help, yes.” He added, if only to further speed up the matters to hand. “Perhaps I am being paranoid or unduly obsessive, but after Beacon, such an impregnable place, suffering as it did… I worry for my charges, you can surely understand.”

That and the rather plain fact that, while he knew what plains were like, he didn’t know what ‘Atlesian armor’ necessarily meant. Or what the settlement’s design would be, and thus its defensibility. Normally, he wouldn't have obsessed quite as much over the matters, but things had changed greatly over the last few days. 

For the good of things, he’d gained incredible power that, even now, he felt thrumming inside him at his consideration of it. For the ill, though, he had struck down servants of the enemy, and now knew a target was on him. Not a concern, to him at least, but now he’d been saddled with the guardianship of several youths whose protection rested on his shoulders. 

For all their talent, and they were talented he knew, they could not match up in a battle where gods and knights of old took to the field against magically infused enemies, or Hunters decades their superior.

“We’ll put it on display on Avers’ Scroll for you in a moment then, Sir.” The older pilot assured him, adding before the giant could leave, “But we have to put down, the rainy season came into Vale hard and early. We try to cross to Mistral, we’re bound to hit a typhoon or worse. And as much as you want to protect your students from Grimm and terrorists, drowning is just as dangerous.”

“I see… You have a good point, pilot.” It was a reasonable point, frankly, and one he had already considered. Idly, he wondered if Gwyn could do something about the storms, but he dismissed the idea as easily as it came on. “I will trust your words, then, but I would like the information you have offered regardless. If only for my students to be at ease.”

“Of course, sir.” The older pilot nodded, gritting his teeth alongside the Undead as a heavier wave of rain slammed against the hull, roaring dully and trembling the craft for the moment it took to acclimate. “Avers, get it on your Scroll, I’ll get us towards the landing zone and call it in.”

It only took the soldier a few moments to bring up a holo-map and project it from his military issued Scroll, using a tiny little blue piece of glass that lit up for the purpose, glowing the same dim blue as the map. The map itself was rather simplistic, really, more an outline than a proper, detailed map but enough for him to get the gist.

Arus was a minor settlement, he could tell by the measurements entailed, barely ten miles at the widest and almost exclusively a defensive and transitory area. Including the wall around the harbor in the center, the walls were a nigh perfect circle, with three great gates for foot traffic and five labelled Bullhead docks and maintenance depots that ringed the wall evenly, owing again to its nature as a travel port and not a proper home. The harbor itself was large as well, more than half the city’s entire internal area, and a designated ‘barracks zoning’ area ringed along the outer wall wherever the Bullhead zones were not. In the center, near to the harbor, was a complex only labelled as the ‘transmitter quarter’, which was ringed by interior walls as well.

“It’s a fallback, mostly.” Avers explained when he asked. “If the Grimm were too numerous and the walls were overrun, or someone attacked us, then we’d retreat there. It’s fortified because it’s our only long-range communication hub.”

“Your only way to speak to people and call on aid.” He summarised, “And so it is defended, lest you be lost far before you are defeated.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have said it in such a weird way, but… Yeah.” Avers nodded, closing the Scroll and sliding it back into the pocket on the front of his jacket. “So outside maybe Atlas or Vale themselves, no safer place. And like the captain said, we can’t not sit down, or we’ll end up swimming.”

“Very well.” He was resigned to it in any event, outside even his sharp eyes couldn’t see far beyond the viewscreen of the ship. Sighing, he turned to leave, offering a polite, “Safe flying, my friends. Take us to our haven safely, and you will have earned my praise.”

“Sir.”

“Will do, Sir.”

Without another remark, the massive Undead sighed and turned to the door into the passenger compartment with a grimace. Not for the conversation or the situation, in truth, though he would never stoop to saying it. Instead, he’d hoped to avoid returning to the passenger compartment, and the various problems within it. Raising a hand, he pressed the release and the door slid open, the first of the problems he’d been avoiding shouting out at him immediately.

“Arc, I swear to the Grimm themselves, you come anywhere near me and I will freeze you and hurl you into the storm!” Weiss threatened, braced with her back as close against the wall beside the door he was stepping through as she could manage, her team behind and beside her fighting over who would be closest to the green looking young man. “Pyrrha, if you value your partner, quarantine him!”

“He’s fine.” The young Mistralian assured them, chuckling weakly and rubbing the young man’s back where he knelt, head between his knees with Nora and Ren sitting beside him. “It’s… Just the storm, Weiss. It worsens an already unfortunate situation, Weiss, you must understand.”

“I understand if he does to my boots what he did to Yang’s, I will castrate him!”

“You will not!”

“Why so offended, Big P?” Yang asked from behind the Schnee, waggling her eyebrows. “Worried about losin’ out on something?”

“I-I do not know what you are insinuating, Yang, but-”

“In the name of the goddess and daughter of the Sun, let what ails you ebb and flow.” He interrupted, crossing the passageway in two long strides and kneeling in front of the young man, “Like the darkest clouds ebb, to let in the light. So too do your pains and ailing body flow into strength and surety.”

Dimly, a bell-like chime echoed as his hand landed on the young knight hopeful’s shoulder. With it, light flashed gently in the small passenger area and Jaune sucked in a breath of air. A simple Miracle, he knew, but an effective one for bolstering one’s health and steadiness when one’s stomach was spinning.

“Better?” He asked as he stood and stepped back, the young blonde giving him an unsure look but nodding. Rising, he turned and scanned the crew compartment, asking finally, “Where is Qrow?”

“Um...”

“Well…”

“He turned into a bird to hide in Ruby’s hood when Jaune started hacking like he was going to vomit.” Nora explained, somehow managing to make what should have been an insane impossibility sound normal. His brows rose and everyone looked to her and she shrugged, “What? I’ve learned to roll with the crazy. Makes things easier, really.”

“You did discover your Semblance by getting struck by lightning… In a valley, somehow.” Ren sighed, shaking his head while Pyrrha helped Jaune stand and steady himself, still unsure on his feet while the Miracle took its fullest effect. “We also saw lightning striking on a clear night, yesterday when Beacon was attacked, during the late dry season on a formerly clear day. And now this unexpected, early storm rolling in with all the fury of middle storm season?”

“We’re all freaking out on the inside and waiting on you to explain things since…” Jaune waved at hand at Ruby who smiled awkwardly, a little bird’s head poking out over her shoulder. “Since I assume Mister Branwen can’t explain things when he’s… When he’s a bird.”

“Mister Branwen…?”

“Miss Rose, please pull your uncle out of your hood, and drop him on the ground for making me say such an insane sentence.” Deacon ordered firmly, the girl squeaking out an ‘okay’ and fishing out the squawking, flapping thing. Unceremoniously, she dropped it and Qrow flapped to get his bearings, before thunking on the ground while Ruby winced and whispered an apology. Kneeling, Deacon asked simply, “Qrow, are you wounded? Two squawks for yes, one squawk for no.”

“Caw!”

“Then please, turn back to your manchild form and help me explain the situation at large, if you do not mind.”

“Caw caw!” The bird flapped angrily, pecking the metal floor of the Bullhead in agitation. “Caw! Caw caw!”

“Qrow, I need your aid here.”

“Caw!”

“I will use a magic dispersal miracle on you, and I would be wary of what that might do.” He threatened, eyebrows raising as the bird stared him down. It blinked and he stood, crossing his arms threateningly and rumbling, “Do not test me. You are old in your years, but a speck in mine, and I will win any test of endurance you attempt.”

He blinked, as though the action were forced out of him, and heard the rustling of feathers. When his eyes opened again, along with those around him who he noted had also blinked, he saw Qrow standing with a frown.

“You’re kind of a dick, you know that, Deacon?” The man sighed, languidly drawing his flask out and spinning the cap with a thumb as he plopped onto one of the seats. Leaning a foot on his knee, he sighed and asked, “Do you have any idea what a Miracle like that would do to me?”

“Not even slightly, no. But luckily, you returned to normal form, and so I do not need to consider the issue.” He answered simply, turning to the children around them who, to their credit, were trying to maintain a strong front. Even if he could sense the chaos within them. “Tell me, when he transforms, do you all blink?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yep.”

“I blinked, then you told him to change back, and I blinked again.” Nora finished, alongside the chorus of nods and varying forms of ‘yes’. “S’kinda weird, but y’all keep bringing up magic, so… Guess it’s magic? I-I mean, I guess magic is a thing now, so… Maybe it’s just magic?”

“Your first lesson in all things magical, students. A simple start, but a needed one nonetheless, is this.” He started simply, using his status as a former teacher to try and get a foot in the door of the explanation that was needed. Raising a hand, he murmured, calling forth a crackling flame like a roaring hearthfire contained above his outstretched hand. “Crackle to life, and warm my realm, Hearth’s Flame.”

“Whoa…” Ruby murmured, eyes widening at the clear sign of magic. Of myth made material before them all. Her reaction was one that all around him, her friends matched to varying degrees of stunned silence or excited murmuring. “Amazing.”

You see no explanation for this fire, but there are some. It feeds on my concentration and energy, and responds to my commands.” With a snap of his other hand’s fingers, the fire vanished and he smiled, “Magic has rules and regulation, and one can understand them. Miss Rose, hold out your hand, if you do not mind.”

“O-Okay…?” Hesitantly, and sparing a glance to Weiss as though for reassurance, she held out her hand and swallowed anxiously. 

“Do not fear, you are perfectly safe. I would never harm y precious, wonderful students so wantonly, I assure you on that matter.” He waited until, more steadily, she nodded and raised a hand. Snapping his fingers, the fire reappeared in his hand, having only ever withdrawn into himself rather than being extinguished. Stepping forward and to the side so all could see, he laid a hand under hers, holding it there and bringing the fire close. “Cup the base of it, much like a flower.”

“O-Okay…” She did as he told her, small hand sliding over his and under the crackling fire. Quickly, he removed his own and stepped away leaving the wide eyed young maiden holding the fire in both hands now and looking between it and him rapidly. “B-But I can’t-”

“You are, Miss Rose.” He chuckled, the girl swallowing and looking at the fire. Standing stiff as a board and watching it crackle warmly in her hand while her team surrounded her to do so alongside her and JNPR stood and leaned to get a view and he explained. “Magic, or Sorceries as I call them, Miracles, all these things have rules and orders. Simply being magic doesn’t preclude rules to its functions existing.”

“Like when I transform, no one can see it.” Qrow offered, “It’s a rule of the magic that does it.”

“Indeed, Qrow, and thank you for your aid in my explanation.” He nodded as the ship suddenly listed to the side and he sighed. The lesson would have to wait for a time, it seemed. “The storm is grounding us on the continent, for a time at least. While we are here, I will begin a basic tutelage for you eight, or nine if we count Qrow and his ignorance of my magics, on these matters.”

“Are you going to teach us magic?” It was Yang who asked, watching the fire crackle warmly in Ruby’s hands and turning to look at him. Eyes narrowed evaluatingly, she asked, “Is that the game, here? Teaching all of us how to do this stuff?”

“I wish only to teach you the very basics, so you may understand what happens around you. And so you may decide to partake in this of truly free will, with all the knowledge I have available to you.” No true choice existed if one withheld basic information, after all. And he would not allow children to partake in this conflict while ignorant of it. “If one of you possess the talent, or I should say ability and aptitude, and wish to pursue it then I will gladly teach you what I know.”

“So it’s on us to decide.” Blake summarised, the woman’s ears, now bare, flicking anxiously with the words. 

“Yes, Miss Belladonna, you must pursue the test of your ability yourselves and pursue my teaching you.” He answered simply, the ship around them shuddering gently as it landed. As the ramp at the back opened, the sound of the heavy rain outside striking steel, concrete and dirt echoing loudly in the quiet ship, he finished. “I am no master, and you are no slaves. Your path is your own to choose. I will push for none.”

“P-Professor!” He turned to look down at Ruby, the girl bouncing anxiously and holding the fire up to him, and she stammered anxiously. “U-Um, well, uh… Fire?” Unsurely, she held the little flame up and he chuckled, the girl asking, “Can you, um, take it away? Or put it out? Or… Something?”

“Simply close your hands, child.” He ordered, smiling gently. “The fire will end itself if you do so. Such is how the Hearthfire Flame functions. It serves to warm and be easily, readily dismissed.”

“Oh.” The girl did as he ordered and, flickering over her knuckles as the connection between it and her died and petered out, she nodded and smiled. “Wow… That’s awesome! Can you test me, Professor?”

“Maybe in a bit, we need to-”

“Please?!” She repeated, hands classed before herself while she stood on the tips of her toes and beamed a smile at him. When he didn’t do anything but blink stunnedly, she rattled on, “I want to be able to make fires like you! Oh, wait, do you think that maybe I can coat my baby in fire and use it burn and slash at the same time?!”

“Uh, Qrow-”

“Don’t look at me, my man. You stepped on this landmine when you picked Ruby for your little example.” The old Hunter chuckled, waving a hand dismissively and turning to the others. “Everybody come on, before Ruby latches onto you and starts rattling off about stuff. She'll talk your ear off if you get her excited.”

As one, the eight of them entirely abandoned him to Ruby’s excited bouncing and questions. Feeling abandoned and, not for the first time, besieged he followed after them and did his best to keep Ruby quiet and from mentioning sensitive topics best left out of the ears of strangers. Luckily, she was willing to at least keep it down when people were around, but she had clever qays of asking her deluge of questions without directly mentioning the topic.

Clever ways, yes, but also insanely annoying.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“It is not my fault that you failed your end of the plan.” The blaming had started as soon as they’d regrouped in the warehouse the White Fang used as one of their hideouts, much to Hazel’s chagrin. Pointing a hooked finger up and into Hazel’s face, he sneered, “Do not think to drag me down with your sinking ship for your failures!”

“Your duty was to get our queen the Fall Maiden. Just like ours was.” Hazel rumbled simply, arms crossed in the small, barren room they were waiting in. “We all failed, and some of us have died. Do not start slinging blame to save your own tail, Tyrian. Now, where is the young woman that was trusted to you?”

“Oh, the little gem, you mean?” Tyrian smiled, practically hissing a laugh when the massive man nodded silently. Stepping back and spreading his arms, he shrugged and sighed. “With Little Cinder’s loss, she was distraught, you understand. I nearly abandoned her to retreat with some sense of subtlety.”

“You had best not have left the girl behind, Tyrian.” Hazel threatened, lumbering towards the smaller man so suddenly that even the insane Tyrian flinched away from. Looming over him, hands curled into fists at his side, he asked, “Where is Emerald?”

“As I was saying, I considered abandoning her.” Tyrian enunciated the word ‘considered’ with extra care and meaning, backing away and holding his hands out to either side, waving Hazel off gently with both and smiling widely. Hazel growled and Tyrian bounced away towards a corner, out of reach unless the man moved to close with him. “But I did not, I assure you! Such would have been to fail our Goddess’ given mission, and you know that I would never do such a thing.”

“Fail how?” Emerald was a nonissue to Salem, he knew. She didn’t care whether the young woman was around or not, or breathing or not. So she should have been irrelevant to Salem and thus irrelevant to Tyrian. “What does she have to do with our mission here, in Vale?”

“She looked at me and cried out, and lightning answered.” Tyrian cackled, gesturing around them and laughing even louder and more madly, he went on. “This storm is her doing, don’t you see? Her anger and pain, flowing with the Maiden’s power flush in her lithe, supple body and clawing at the world for its sins against her!”

“You mean…”

“Little Cinder may have failed to kill that bastard, and failed to tear down Beacon, but she succeeded at one thing…” Tyrian smiled, baring his teeth and fighting a laugh trying to break past his control. Fighting and failing, really, the words broken by snorts of amusement as he explained. “She gave our mistress the Fall Maiden, even if it would wind up being inside her pathetic little peon instead of herself!”

“Oh…” If Emerald was the Fall Maiden, and Ozpin had been, at least temporarily, put out of play… “Then we… Succeeded, albeit with some losses.”

“Precisely!” Tyrian laughed brightly, spinning on a heel and letting out a pleasant sigh. “Oh, and no more annoying barbs from that bitch or Watts to contend with! Wonderful!”

“Hm.” He wouldn’t have called it that to say the least, but it was good to know that not all their goals had failed. Losses for a success were something that their ruler would accept, whereas a great defeat was something that would have his head on a literal pike by the end of the day. Idly, he asked, “Where is the Maiden, then?”

“Oh, she wouldn’t calm down, so I stung her with a little toxin to known her out and put her in a shipping container.” Hazel sighed and growled and Tyrian shrugged, face blank and plain. “What? I left her snacks and drinks. She’ll be fine.”

Sighing, he turned to look through the warehouse and find her. Preferably before she summoned a typhoon and killed herself for the exertion.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Trying a new formatting for line breaks after complaints, in the hopes that it will appear smaller and thus less obtrusive. Please, give me some input. I figured a largely segue based chapter, finalizing setup and skeleton for the story going forward, was the best time to put it in place and see what you all thought.

Cheers~!

XxX----XxX----XxX

Edgy Boi : 

The best part of this story, to my mind, is just how plain Dark Souls it is, dropped seamlessly - sort of - into RWBY.

Guts and Toes :

Hazel is honorable. Deacon is an honor-bound knight. Ergo, and this is backed historically, he was obligated to offer Hazel a chance to surrender or withdraw. Hazel elected to take that chance when it was offered. Just one way that being ‘honorable’ can be a bad thing.

Bob :

That is precisely what happened. Deacon calls himself a ‘god’ because it is the best approximation to what he has become which he can offer. Lords were gods, after all, and Lords of Cinder were not around yet for him to truly know the terminology and rank. 

Is a case of ‘the MC doesn’t know X’.

Talon Scythe :

I mean, how does one really react to ‘I am the most powerful being on the planet, immortal and undying, and can summon gods to my said. Also, I wish to swear fealty to you.’?

Yesboss21 :

Jinn knows all, after all…

SD Phantom :

XD

Transcended Potato :

No promises. No denials, either, but no promises.

Brainarius :

Yes. That is the implicative plan.

Adoravke :

I love that I know this reference…

THE REFERENCE LIVES *STOMP STOMP STOMP*

Marked Pariah :

Thanks for reading my story.


	24. Chapter 24

XxX----XxX----XxX

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XxX----XxX----XxX

“According to the Atlesian weather watcher and the Valean Kingdom Engineers, the weather is a freak storm. It came out of the blue, formed almost on the spot.” Glynda explained when, finally, he secured them lodgings in one of the myriad military inns they ran. Sighing and sending static across the line, or rather more static given the storm’s effects on the communications, she asked, “Are you well, at least? No complications getting board, then?”

“No, my Lady.” He answered respectfully, grinning slightly when she flushed at the term and pursed her lips, disliking it but unwilling to argue with him on it. Too kind to argue against his traditions and beliefs, he was certain. “We are well cared for in an inn, the ‘Iron Hostile’ I believe is the name.”

“Atlesian military?”

“Indeed, m’Lady.” He nodded, smiling even more, albeit slightly, at her vexed expression. Ignoring it, he continued on to business. “Our paperwork is cleared, and we and our pilots are dormed for the duration. Once the storm has passed, we are promised fuel, provisions to replace ours so they may last the journey, and the like. Part of the inn’s services, I am told.”

“Indeed, an old agreement between the Kingdoms’ militaries.” She nodded, “The Inns ought to be caring for everything, and for no charge to you. But I have heard rumors of ones that try to regardless.”

The inn was one of many in the area. Places for Hunters to stay during times like these, he’d been told. Cheap, but well made, with moderate rooms for partners to share and warm wooden floors and walls. A nice enough place for them and those like them, on missions stalled by weather or a need to supply. 

So long as they had proof of a mission to be on, and that they weren’t simply loitering for the roof and food, obviously. 

“None such has occurred, I have been wary.” He’d heard as much about the rumors from the pilots themselves, once they’d landed and turned in their paperwork. The duo were a kindly pair, he was learning. “By the words of those who I have spoken to about it, it is mainly a frontier problem. Fewer Hunters traveling through, and less frequently. Sometimes, they don’t return, and so the Kingdom doesn’t reimburse them. Desperation breeds thievery.”

“Unfortunately…”

“Put it out of mind, I say, my Lady.” He suggested, the woman nodding at the suggestion. “I have told the children the truth, in full as it was told to me. And of what I am, besides.”

“A risky proposition…” But one on which she understood his position. He would not lead the ignorant to war, not when he was to command them. Only those who knew their decisions for what they were would be allowed to stand within his shield wall. “How are they taking it?”

“They are processing it, I believe. They listened, and I saw the glimmer of acceptance in their eyes, but they didn’t truly accept the information until I used my magic before them. A Miracle, and some mild lighting Pyromancies.” Barely even worthy of calling either of his castings that, really. A mere and mild curativ, and Kindling, a Pyromancy of convenience for starting fires. “I intend to summon Gwyn, or possibly Solaire or even Lady Priscilla the Halfbreed.”

“Forgive me, but I remember you mentioning she asked you to spare the Faunus that attacked you?” He nodded, and she asked, “Why?”

“I do not know, in full truth, as of yet.” Though he intended to ask, as soon as a moment that was opportune crossed his path. Glynda knew he would ask after the information, as curious as he always was, and didn’t answer. So neither dwelt on it, and he simply vowed, “As soon as I know, you will as well, as soon as I am able to make it so. On my word of honor.”

“Another oath?”

“I am sworn to you.” He answered plainly, “Each word, every promise, is as deep an oath as a day spent fasting and blood dripped upon stone to mark a vow sealed. Such is the nature of a sworn Knight of the Covenant of Sunlight.”

“I… Am adjusting to the idea still, frankly.” She swallowed anxiously, a glass moving to her hand on the screen. Red liquid sloshed about in its rim, and she took a long sip before finally speaking again. “The children. How are they doing? How are they taking what you have told them?”

“Seeking distraction, be it talking about my ‘tricks’ as they called them or, last I saw, ta;king about the weather.” He smiled pleasantly at the thought, the outcome a better one than could have come. They could have hurled disbelief, and stepped away from their righteous cause, or any other number of responses. “They are… Coping with the news, I suppose. One item of note, their internal quarrels seem to have died out.”

“Truly?” The headmistress sounded surprised in a way he’d not heard before. And he’d revealed his divinity to her, so he felt surprised that she seemed more surprised now. It must have shown, or something close enough, for she added swiftly, “I had thought at least Miss Belladonna would be having friction with her team, given the Fang’s involvement with the enemy.”

“I believe the more existential threats and questions have taken the fore, luckily.” He chuckled, closing his eyes and sensing the life around him. Several floors below, he sensed the soldiers sheltering within the building, and the guards for it as well, along with the staff. Scattered along the lower floors were more people he didn’t know, but in the rooms around him he sensed more familiar presences. “The partner-pairs have not left their room, and I suspect each is, between themselves, working through the issues to hand.”

“Should you intervene?”

“I would not think so, no.” He answered quietly, unsure as always when matter or morale and emotion were at play. So long spent alone, he had some struggle in trying to understand the motivations of people, or how their emotions played into them, sometimes. “Were I to intervene, I fear it would only drive them away. Push them to mistrust me, or think me attempting to coerce and cajole them into doing as I wish rather than letting them choose.”

“Ozpin would say that may be needed, to protect the world at large…”

“I swore to you, not Ozpin, precisely for your lack of such ideals.” Left unsaid was his hope that she wouldn’t go down that road. And from the thoughtful that graced her features, she did lack the willingness to go through with that sort of thing, even if she knew Ozpin wouldn’t mind it. Gently, he added, “Whatever you command, I shall enact it. Such is my vow. However my wishes and urgings, you are the one whose word matters.”

“No matter what I order?”

“No matter what you order.” He assured her, the woman’s face pinching in concern and understanding on the same hand. 

“...Come morning, I want you to have a conversation with them, on my behalf this time.” She ordered simply, the great man nodding his head and waiting for her to detail what she wanted. “Explain to them that, as Huntsmen and Huntresses, their duties are to protect the people of the Kingdoms. And that this mission, to Mistral to find Ozpin, is of core importance to that.”

“And the war at large?” He asked, an eyebrow raised gently. “I was told our hope was that Miss Nikos might match and best the next Maiden, should the enemy have had a young woman to take of the power of Fall.”

“Explain that of the war at large, the majority of them are free and unburdened, and may do as they wish.” Regardless of the inconveniences, she didn’t add. And he was grateful she would rather face those problems than cajole children into a war they were not ready for, even if it meant more battle for him. “As for team Juniper… Explain to Miss Nikos how useful she would be, but stress that we have other options. She need not feel pressed into the matter.”

“The blade to hand is not for sure the best blade over all.” He murmured in summary, the woman nodding at him over the Scroll-line. 

“An apt saying.”

“And an old one, although I suppose that any saying I utter is likely an ancient one. Nature of the beast, I have come to understand.” He chuckled at his joke and, to match his hopes, she did too. “How fares Beacon?”

“Well enough that I can not complain about it, really.” She shrugged, “Repairs are fully and well funded, the students have settled, and missions to cull the Grimm around the walls are ongoing and productive.”

“Good. I am glad to hear that things are recovering nicely, the news eases my mind.” He’d been worried, albeit distantly and resignedly, knowing that there was not much he could do about the worry. Not much aside from ignore it, at least. And focus on his duties as an aside. “I should leave you to your work, then, I suppose. I need no rest, but you do, and the hour begins to grow late.”

“And no sign of the storm moving…”

“Indeed.” That part was odd, at the very least. “Something about the tempest feels wrong…”

“I know, I feel the same. The timing, the suddenness, the nature of the Maiden’s powers…” The woman sighed and shook her head, pausing a moment for another sip of her rich wine. A vice to be sure, but one he was certain she needed, after so much and such a doubtlessly stressful day. “Can your, er, abilities discern whether something Maiden related is going on?”

“No, they cannot, I am sad to say. Were I a Sorcerer, I could perhaps attempt a detection spell, but even then the storm is too large for any reliability to it.” Or as much as you know about the craft told him such, at the least. He was no adept, though, and only had distant memories and journals he had naught but skimmed to confirm his theory. “But if a Maiden’s powers reach such a scope, it seems a conclusion we cannot evade.”

“If she were upset, yes, she could unleash this kind of thing.” Glynda nodded, knowing more by a wide margin about this particular magic than he did. And given that, he would accept her words for the value they held. “It would pass in a couple days at the longest, if that were the case. She’d be exhausted and the power would cease for instinct alone, before it could kill her.”

“I hope so as well, my Lady.” He would prefer to face whoever it was in honorable combat and best them, rather than see them fall to their own powers. Consumed in it, they would get no honor, and that was a tragedy to his eyes no matter the depths of a person’s darkness. “For now, my Lady, I wish you a good night.”

“And the same to you, Deacon.” She nodded, smiling thinly and adding before he could hang up, “And please, call me Glyn. You don’t need to speak to me so formally.”

“As you wish it, Lady Glyn.” He nodded, the woman chuckling at the compromise he’d found. With a respectful nod, he wished her good night again and flicked the Scroll closed. 

Leaning back, he sighed and wondered, or more accurately worried, about the children. And how they were truly coping, inside and now that they were in private, with what they’d been told and been through. And what they knew they were to be facing soon enough, most likely, as an aside.

Come the morning, he would see about finding out about it.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“This storm sure is freaky…” Ruby murmured, sitting on one of the simple little beds in the spartan hotel room. Across from her, Weiss knelt on the floor, Myrtenaster on a cloth on the bed and in pieces. Ruby watched her work for a moment to polish the blade and added, “I think it’s silly that they don’t have, like, nightstands in these hotels.”

“Hunter Hotels, Ruby.” Weiss chided gently, as though it was an explanation for the bare bones of the rooms. When the girl rolled her eyes, Weiss slowed her cleaning of the blade so she wouldn’t cut herself and went on, explaining for her partner. “Look, these hotels are run as free houses for people on missions. A roof, a bed, and dinner and breakfast both, all grattis for those out on assignment.”

“Still, though…” Ruby made a face, “No tables?”

“Yes, Ruby.” Weiss droned, staring at the younger girl with as much bane as she possibly could. Which, given her nickname and heritage, she was certain was quite a lot of bane. 

“That’s just cheap, though.”

“That is the point…”

“No, no, I mean, like… I feel like it’s undercutting the point, you know what I mean?” Weiss gave her a look that spelled out even for Ruby how she did not know what she meant. More than used to her icy teammate, Ruby rolled over on the bed, head at the foot of it and arm hanging off to scratch idly at the wooden floor, and explained, “Like, we need table for maintenance of our equipment. So not having them makes that harder, and could mess up missions.”

“There’s an armory and engineering depot five minutes up the road, near the CCT relay communications tower.” Weiss explained simply, “Normally, were it not for inclement weather, I could go there and have a suite of military grade, Atlesian tools to work with. All grattis, unless I need something machined and brought in of course, to boot.”

“Oh… Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Of course it is, you dolt.” Weiss rolled her eyes good naturedly, smiling pleasantly at how easily taught Ruby had turned out to be. Explain something and Ruby would accept it, if it made sense. “That’s why it’s standard practice in all four of the Kingdoms and-and even in Menagerie.”

“I feel like Menagerie is basically a Kingdom…”

“It’s not. It’s a backwater excuse for a… Damn it.” Weiss snapped, and then cursed herself audibly. A habit she’d developed in trying to show Blake that she wasn’t some bigot like she’d thought, and that she was trying to break her father’s indoctrination of her. Gently this time, she amended her statement, “Very well, then. It’s common practice in all five of the Kingdoms. An astute correction, Ruby.”

“Thanks~!”

“You’re quite welcome, Ruby.” She nodded, genuinely grateful as she laid the blade of Myrtenaster aside, shining like the day it was new, and reached for the cylinder transitioner. A little silver piece, much like a revolver would have, but so much more integral to her weapon. Irreplaceable, even, and specially made to slot in Dust and use it safely even under the rigors of combat. 

“So…”

“Yes, Ruby?”

“Your sword, Myrtenaster, it uses a Dust oscillation cylinder and gravity Dust infused metals to absorb shock, and keep the Dust safely inert while you fight. Right?” Ruby said it like it was a question, but Weiss saw the flatness in her face. The sharpness to her eyes, keen in the way they were when she discussed any number of combat related things.

“Yes, it does. It is a very useful material, Seer-Steel, to a degree that almost makes it miraculous.” Though she supposed she’d be an expert in the miraculous shortly, with their… Situation. Sighing and putting it aside, she went on, “And especially so when infused very, very carefully with Dust of any given type. The reactions it has in the forging process can be… Amazing.”

“Yeah, my Crescent Rose is Dust treated along the blade. Was expensive, but, you know.” She shrugged and smiled, ear to ear like she always was when talking about ‘her baby’. “The edge holds basically no matter what, and cuts through Grimm plating up to seven milimeters. I get enough speed and I should be able to even punch through Deathstalker armor!”

“Like Initiation?”

“Yes!” A blink and then, as she realized Weiss’ point and saw her teasing smirk, a petulant pout and growl. “No, not exactly like that. I didn’t have enough speed, and I didn’t come in for the right spot.”

“As you say.” Weiss murmured, more to avoid debating the matter with her. She knew well enough how skilled at combat Ruby could be, when she was calm and just fought rather than trying to impress people. 

From there, the duo were silent for a long time while the young heiress worked, and eventually pieced her prized Myrtenaster back together. 

“So are we gonna… Talk about all of this?” Weiss paused, Myrtenaster’s case pulled out and ready for the weapon, turning her head to give her partner a questioning look. Ruby’s face was set as stone, serious and stern, and she repeated, “The Battle of Beacon, s’what the official name is now, the professor’s literal goddiness, Headmaster Ozpin’s reincarnating…”

“It is… It is a lot to process, yes. The very understandings of basic worldly concepts I had are just… Gone.” Weiss summarised, gently setting her weapon in its case and clicking the code lock shut with a sigh. Chewing her lip, she stood and sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing out her skirt anxiously. “It’s terrifying, really.”

“Yeah…” Ruby nodded, before she smiled gently. “Does that change anything, though? I mean, really change anything.”

“Why would it not?” They were now on the precipice of a war between immortals, Grimm Queens, magical women imbued with elemental powers and so much more. “We signed up to fight Grimm, not… Not all of this.”

“Jaune’s team disagrees. Blake and Yang, too, they already told me.” Ruby pointed out gently, pulling her Scroll out when Weiss’ brows furrowed and she crossed her arms in clear question. Seeing that, Ruby rolled onto her side and fished in her layered skirt for the little case she kept her Scroll in, clicking it open and reciting, “According to Pyr, ‘A huntress’ duty is to protect people. Not necessarily from just Grimm.’ Which is true, we’re supposed to fight, like, bandits and stuff too when we need to.”

“That is…” True, given the fact that only a Hunter could fight a Hunter, and bandit tribes tended to have a few. Besides which, of course, was the fact that bandit activities could and would hurt people, thus drawing Grimm. “Surely, this is different.”

“I dunno, everyone else says that this is just, like… Top tier Hunter stuff, but still Hunter stuff.” Ruby argued gently, nodding with her head to Weiss’ bags. Or more specifically, the Schnee guessed, to her muted Scroll stored in them. “You can read the messages yourself, if you want. Hear what we have to say. Because we all want to fight, to protect people from monsters, and a Grimm Queen is just another monster.”

“I suppose…” An evil demi-god would be a monster well enough, she supposed. “Still, I don’t like this. I’m…”

“Afraid?”

“A Schnee is never-” She cut herself off once again, face pinched in the same way she’d pinched off her words. More old, heritage based rhetoric, that had little bearing on the realities to hand. Quiet gentler, she sighed and spoke, “Yes, I’m afraid. Gods, Grimm Queens, magic, I-I didn’t sign on to be a Huntress to face these things. I wanted to fight Grimm, bring some honor to my family name once again.”

“Helping pave the way to saving the world would bring a lot of honor, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, only…”

“You’re scared.”

“...I am.” And damn her pride if it wasn’t hard to admit to that, but once she did it was like a floodgate, breaking and straining against the waters behind. “I-I want to help people, but I don’t want to die. I know it’s selfish, but…”

“But you want to run away?” The question was gentle, but Weiss prickled at it regardless.

She kept her cool, though, finally succeeding on the third try to restrain her Schnee temperament. Or what her father had made of the Schnee temperament, she supposed. Another thing she’d strive to change, when the time came, she had long since decided. Another thing on such a long, long list of them, but another thing regardless. To Ruby’s question, though, Weiss merely shook her head to the negative.

“I don’t want to run, I’m no coward, no craven. In spite of my father’s decisions and wishes, I would like to think I am rather brave.” And the words were honest, too. Almost enough to surprise her, even, though not quite. Instead, she let herself feel proud of it for a moment and then continued on. “I’m afraid, but I won’t leave my team. I just… Won’t.”

“And we won’t make you join us in this.” Ruby promised, smiling thinly at her. Not a happy smile, or a sad one either, as far as Weiss could tell. Ruby had very particular versions of each, and this seemed unlike either of them, and instead looked much more… Resigned. A smile to match her voice, then, weak and tired when she went on. “We all want to join in on this, want to fight for a better end to all this, but… But we won’t do it unless everyone agrees.”

“I see…”

“You don’t have to answer now, Weiss. There’s time.” Ruby rushed to add, when Weiss’ face fell, sitting up and waving her hands excitedly as though she could waft away the bad feelings. Smiling gently, almost maternally even, Ruby offered simply, “Just think about it. This mission should be safe enough, and nothing says we have to keep going afterwards.”

“No.” Weiss snapped suddenly, knees pressed against each other and hands folded together sweating anxiously. “No, I’m terrified, but I’m terrified second. I’m a Huntress first, and a girl second. And besides, if I run now, how could I ever hope to bring honor back to my name?”

“Weiss…”

“I’ve made my decision, Ruby. It is settled now.” Even if it scared her, she would stand by it. “We should sleep while we have the time. Hopefully the storm may be gone come morning, and if so, I do not fancy a flight with Arc while tired.”

“Fair…” Ruby gave her an appraising look, like Weiss had learned to expect from suitors and businessmen partnered with her father. Or, equally often, being victimized by him. Whatever she wanted to see, Weiss supposed she had, because she shrugged and rolled over to tug the blankets down, “Good night, Weiss.”

“Good night, Ruby.” She nodded, flicking the light off and pulling the blanket back on her own bed. With a sigh, she settled in.

At least the rain on the ceiling was a relaxing sound, bar the howling winds. 

XxX----XxX----XxX

“No! Stay back you bastards! All of you!” Emerald shrieked when she saw Hazel try to approach her. Then she spotted Tyrian and howled anew, shrieking fury and demanding, “Keep away from me, you bastard! Don’t touch me with that disgusting tail of yours!”

Her new power responded to her wishes, and pulled her away from him, further out into the warehouse and away from the door he’d come in through. Sobbing, the woman floated unsteadily in the air, unable to keep herself level and swinging between nearly hitting the roof of the building and scraping her shoes on the floor, enough that the woman would kick off it to get higher to stay away from him.

Around her, all along the walls of the wide warehouse, shipping containers lay in dented, ruined heaps alongside their contents. Papers, furniture, weapons and armor from the Fang’s smuggling and, occasionally and sadly, the broken bodies of Fang soldiers. Many of the Fang lived in these sorts of warehouses, after all, and he knew even more would be lost or trapped under those containers. Those he could see were armed and armored, though, and seemed more likely to be guards - an equivalent, at the least - of the Fang here, who tried to stop Emerald’s rampage.

“She was crying in the center of the warehouse, we left her to lay.” A large Faunus explained, the bear of a man grumbling lowly but still carrying even through the wind that howled across the warehouse. “What in the world is all of this?”

“Destruction, my bestial brother!” The Faunus behind him cackled, standing there and using the larger, dark-skinned man like a shield. A hand gripping Hazel’s shirt, he laughed and asked, “What do you think it is? Divine punishment? Oh, but her Ladyship isn’t here, no, no, no…”

“Tyrian!” Hazel barked, cowing the man as he rounded in him, jabbing a finger into his shoulder hard enough to push him back. Scowling, he loomed over the man and snarled, “This is your fault! She would be calmer had you not stung her, I am certain of it.”

“Oh, don’t be angry. How could I have possibly known my pretty little prick wouldn’t keep her down for long enough to matter?” The man cackled, standing hunched beside Hazel and watching the destruction with an almost manic grin. Spreading his hands, the Faunus tilted his head to the side and grinned widely, inviting him to strike him. “Punish me, if you like, oh, but remember that I will remember! Even if you forget to remember, be assured, I am like an elephant in this way, ohhhh.”

A creature of curious habits, Tyrian was. And as much as, then and there, he wanted to beat a lesson into him, he knew better than to. Salem would have words to say about that if he hurt Tyrian for angering him, and then she needed him for something. Instead, he turned away, and ignored the man’s wild, hysterical laughing while he considered what to do. 

If he just tried to overpower her, he wouldn't last a minute. Not in his state, still tired and having not rested properly since the fight. But if he decided to just let her rage, justified as it may or may not have been, then she’d kill herself. Alongside who knew how many other people along with her, that was. And nobody else needed to die for all of this, not today at any rate. He didn’t care who would get hurt, even if he’d have to fight them later, but right now he wouldn’t let it continue.

“Wait here.” He ordered simply, pulling his shirt off and standing bare-chested, rolling his shoulders to limber himself up while Tyrian and the unnamed, masked Faunus watched. “I will handle this.”

“Or she’ll kill you~!” Tyrian sang the words and then his face grew grave and he straightened, like an asylum inmate experiencing a moment of lucidity. An apt comparison, part of him supposed. “If you go out there, she could kill you. You should be careful, my friend. I would hate to bury you for some silly little girl who lost her crush.”

“Hm.” Were they friends? He certainly didn’t think so, though he’d never bother to argue the point with the man. Regardless, he simply grunted in a low, reproaching tone, “I am always careful. And Cinder was no just her crush. Have some respect for the passed, even if you don’t like them, Tyrian.”

“I can see why our very large person of interest likes you so much. So honorable.” The Faunus with them gave him a look, head cocked to the side, and Tyrian sneered a laugh. “Oh, no, not you my nameless, masked friend! Someone far more interesting, and important, than some random mook of the Fang!”

“Why you little- Hrk!” Tyrian’s stinger snapped out and stopped under the larger Faunus’ chin, tail dripping poison onto his white outfit, and the man came up short. 

“Go on, then?” Tyrian jeered, “What were you going to say?”

“...Nothing.” The man answered, turning and walking away, watching over his shoulder warily in case Tyrian decided to try something. Hazel waited to make sure of the same, and was probably the one and only reason Tyrian didn’t do anything in the end.

Hazel would, naturally, get in the way after all.

Turning back towards the young Maiden, the man lumbered forward into the howling winds she had summoned, whipping around her like a tornado might. She saw him coming of course, the floor was empty at this point and he was large and barebacked, arms raised protectively in front of his face. He saw her orient towards him and shout something, a threat and a demand he stay away from her probably, but he couldn’t hear her. He tried to tell her as much, gesturing to his ears and shaking his head wildly, cutting the other hand across his chest in a ‘no go’ gesture. Which meant that she would have to come down and speak to him, face to face, and he gestured for her to do that too with a wave of his hand.

She took exception to that, he found out inside a moment, as the winds picked up and turned on him, hurling debris his way.

Metal, weapons, and other detritus from the from the ruined cargo containers rained down against him, but he didn’t care. What pieces were large enough to hurt him in a debilitating way he let his Aura protect him from, or dodged, along with clusters of shrapnel and the like. Small pieces, though, he let cut and bruise him as he went, partially because his Semblance let him not care - pain was nothing to him, after all - but equally to let her hurt him. To let her see him getting hurt, bleeding from a dozen cuts and purpled in places where he’d been bruised. 

Ugly to look at, even if he knew it would be healed in less than two days. 

“Emerald!” He finally bellowed once he stood under the woman, the green-haired Maiden floating above him and sweating beads. She’d long since stopped crying, eyes red and cheeks puffy from it but unable to keep going. Spreading his arms wide, he called up to her, “Hurt me all you want if it helps you, but you must calm down! The power will drain you if you do not, and you will die.”

“Why?!”

“Because your body is unused to magic right now, and-”

“No, why are you so damn intent on interfering like this, on helping me?” She demanded instead, the man blinking at the sudden words. “Cinder was the only one that I ever cared about, and you should know I don’t give a damn about her ‘mistress’, either!”

“Because I have been where you are.” He answered honestly, looking up at the woman. Emerald scoffed but didn’t speak, looking down on him with harrow, red eyes. He took the opening offered to shout out, and answer her unasked question, “Ozpin got my sister killed. Sent her on a mission with just her partner. A mission that should have been handed to fourth years, and a full team as well. Not a first year pair.”

“Tyrian approached me, at the funeral, after I threatened Ozpin’s life.” As futile as that was, he would soon find out. No matter, really, besides giving him the pleasure of seeing ozpin die again and again, whether he did the killing or not. “He led me to my Queen, and she explained to me that grief is rage, and both are natural. And both those things have the same answer, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Revenge!” He called back up to her. “My target is an immortal, reincarnating man named Ozpin. Who you helped kill the other night, at Beacon.”

“...And mine is that bastard.” She answered, floating low enough her waist was at head level, the woman bent over so she could look down at him. Looking into his eyes, she asked, “You know who killed Cinder?”

“Yes.” He nodded, “And he’s just as hard to put down as Ozpin is. We killed him once, and all he did was stand back up, even stronger than he’d been before. I’m only alive because he let me go. Adam is the same.”

She’d not made the accusation, but he had seen it in her eyes. The question of why Cinder had been killed, but he had not. How had he escaped, if not abandoning or betraying her adopted mother figure? Now, though, he saw that suspicion fade away entirely, because why would he even mention such betrayal if it did happen? It would be suicide.

And, as honest as his denial of the suspicion was, he was still counting on that to sell it to her.

“Take a breath, cut the power off, and rest.” He finally ordered gently, reaching up to offer her his hand. She looked to it and then to him, wary and hurting still in a way that would never heal, he knew. But, she laid her hand in his palm and, ignoring the lightning that arced around his hand and burned it, he held it in his own gently. “Do that, trust me, and we will find a way to end Deacon. And Ozpin, too.”

“Revenge…”

“Yes. On Ozpin, on Beacon, on Deacon most of all.” He didn’t close his hand around hers, though. 

Instead, he let her reach for the limb with her other and pull herself down, until her feet landed on the ground and the tempest around them directly faded. The one outside would take time to settle, he was sure, but the one inside finally faded away into nothingness. Almost instantly, Emerald collapsed, her emotions slowing and calming enough that the power within her stilled and so was no longer flushing her system. 

Scooping her thin frame up and letting her curl in his arms, he turned to see Tyrian slinking towards them with a wide smile, “Oh, good work! Truly, truly excellent. Do tell, though, would a touch of toxin affection help her… Stay calm?”

“No.” He growled, lumbering by in spite of his wounds, which even now his Aura began to ease. “She needs a place to rest, and food when she wakes up. I will handle it. You secure us passage to the Queen’s tower.”

The last bit had Tyrian moving, always eager to see their dark queen, particularly when such success could be reported. Surely, in Tyrian’s mind, he would receive praise and reward for such accomplishments. Even if they’d cost a blood toll, Tyrian would never be one to care, so long as her highness praised him for it.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Come morning, he’d knocked on the doors of his students ready for a confrontation and conversation. Of children who had, finally, absorbed what they’d been told and would be rebelling against it. A problem he’d anticipated, knowing that he would likely only be able to convince them to aid him on this last mission before most, if not all, would depart entirely. Leave to live more average, planer lives, which was not something he could actually bring himself to spite. 

Instead, while the dying storm rattled and drizzled outside, he found them filing out into the hallways in shining armor, with weapons ready and maintained for combat. With a firm voice, Weiss was the one to ask, “Are we prepared to go to Mistral yes, Sir? Has the storm passed on?”

“Enough so for us to travel, yes.” And that was being hailed as a miracle, too, he knew from the soldiers and other occupants of the hotel he’d run across in the lower floors. It was late enough in the morning that he’d gone down with Qrow to check on the weather and check in with the hotel’s owners. “Are you all… That is to say, have you-”

“You punks in on this mission and al the baggage, or nah?” Qrow cut in, sliding past him with his flask in hand, sloshing it around a little and grunting at the sound. Likely because it sounded a third empty he supposed, knowing the sound test, oddly enough, from his Estus flask. “Because whatever you wanna do, we’ll respect, but we need to-”

“We’re all in, Uncle Qrow.” Ruby cut him off, surprising both the older men. The girl was normally far too meek for that, but now had interrupted not only an older veteran but her own uncle’s words? “This is what we all signed on to do, hell or high water, and we’re going to do it.”

“It is dangerous.” Deacon warned lowly, wary of young warriors rushing headlong and over eager into a battle they hadn’t thought through. “You need not rush, we can go to Mistral, return with Oz,” their code name for him, silly as it was to his mind, not to mention obvious, “, then we return, and you can all decide.”

“We have decided, uh, Sir. I.. Dunno if you have an actual title, now, so yeah. Sir.” Arc stepped forward no, his sword at his waist and a hand resting on its hilt, fingers drumming anxiously. In spite of that, he spoke clearly, and his teammates stared the two men down in a clear display that the young man spoke with their authority. “We all signed on to protect people. This protects all people. So, you know… Time to be big heros?”

“Heros end up dead, kid.” Qrow drawled, shrugging when the old knight gave him a glare for it. “What? S’good aspiration, dyin’ good enough you end up in a book somewhere. But you should know you’re doin’ that when you go into it. That’s all I mean.”

“Very well…” If poorly phrase, it was a good point. Regardless, he turned his gaze on the children and asked, “Are you all so certain? Do not swear yourselves her so lightly, not if you would be wont to break and run at the first sign of a battle with casualties. I have seen many headstrong and brash do the same, and mean no insult in the words. Only clarity.”

“My mom died fighting on a mission, Sir. Uncle Qrow knows all about it, and we do too.” Ruby spoke, the words softer and weaker than before even if still as firm as granite. Beside the girl, her sister laid a hand on her shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Ren and Nora come from a village that got hit when they were little, a-and Jaune’s family has a long line of Hunters. We all know what the risks are, here.”

“I see…” He turned a look on Qrow who, aside from preening proudly, simply shrugged and smiled. Sighing, he turned back to them and stepped aside, waving a hand the way they’d come. “Then gather your things, Hunters, and that is what you are as of now. License or no, you will stand and fight as my equals, so eat, ensure you are packed properly, and gather inside the hour. We depart for Mistral in that and another half.”

There were no cheers or excited murmurs at the order or proclamation. Only curt, simple nods and footfalls passing him by and heading down to the bottom floor, to eat so they could leave. A lesser man would have been worried, and he saw the fleeting moment of it pass over Qrow’s face before his rational mind kicked in and told him all was well and they were fine.

To the Undead, the soberness of the children spoke to a clarity of the situation that he had so hoped to instill.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Minxiboo :

Glad you liked it.

SD Phantom :

Ruby likes jolly cooperation, yes.

Talon Scythe :

Yeah, it’s… Surprisingly difficult, sometimes, to have a lot of changes going on, even spread out over many chapters, and NOT feel like it’s happening too fast. Is just a problem that kinda stands up, no matter what. Even good writers have the issue of once things start changing, it happens rapidly and feels quick. 

Edgy Bro :

No spoilers from me~

Adoravke :

THE REFERENCE LIVES *STOMP, STOMP, STOMP*


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